


Operatus

by thenew



Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, SCP Foundation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:54:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 36,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25595368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenew/pseuds/thenew
Summary: The Fourth Holy Grail War has started. The Foundation watches.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 26





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where O5-8 receives the news.

At his office, O5-8 stared at a report.

He sighed. A Dead Apostle had attacked a site in Brazil. Site security had killed him, but he had managed to destroy... a Mekhanite anti-Sarkic weapon? That was suspicious. Was one of their cults allied with Apostles now?

No, probably not. He'll tell Four about it, anyway. If it was happening, it probably was a Neo branch. Damn inbred blueblood pigs always rrunning around, being disgusting and causing trouble. Nälkä faithful were normally not a problem. These guys were not.

What else? A mage was brought into Foundation custody. Had stole Alchemy Department research and tried to sell it in the black market. O5-8 laughed. This was rather funny. This seemed like something the mages would do.

But he was definitely sending someone so they could talk to the Association. Maybe remind them of how the world worked.

He would try to strengthen the alchemists' security. Maybe the others would agree in the next meeting. It was hard sometimes. He could delegate this to someone else, but he felt better knowing what was happening around the world.

Now... the last report. Then he could go sleep. He picked up the first page.

...What?

The Holy Grail War? Starting this year?

Damn, he had completely forgotten about that. He would definitely need to call a meeting.

The damn war was just too much trouble. He always said it was a risky gamble, too dangerous... they should just shut the whole damn thing down and be done with it. That thing was a ridiculous idea from the start.

What use did they even have for the wish? Large-scale reality alterations were always a bad idea. But the others always said no.

It was an opportunity, they said. Every chosen group would send their most capable minds, and we can snatch some of them, they said. And the info they got with the war was too valuable, they said.

What about the _fucking omnipotent wish,_ he said.

They didn't give a single shit. They didn't listen. At least no one ever got the wish. Thank god for that.

So. The Holy Grail War. The last one had been a disaster.

Who the hell thought using a product from _The Factory_ as a summon catalyst was a good idea? The shitty counterfeit Servant was funny at first. Not so much when it started trying to make a new Factory.

At least the Einzbern got their teeth kicked in. That was always a plus, on his book. Had anyone summoned the Servants yet?

The Grail wasn't online yet, but people were always impatient.

Hmm... wow, this report was a big one. Broken God cultists lurking around in archeological sites in... China. Could be Grail War, could be something else.

Okay, thank god for Foundation moles. So Xia stuff? What else? One of the magus families the Coalition recruited was requesting permission to get in the War.

Trouble. Who were them... no more info. The gocks were being sneaky. That was actually a surprise.

He had to think of plan for this.

Actually, this _was_ an opportunity. An opportunity for him. If a Foundation Overseer wanted to get in the war, who would be able to say otherwise?

He could win this. He picked the file up. He wasn't a mage, but he knew some stuff about it. This ritual... well, it was basically the same ever War.

So he needed a new catalyst, huh? Oh well. Systems like this didn't change often.

"Destroy yourself and harm no one else."

A good wish. He'll finally be rid of this pain in the ass.

These Holy Grail wars had been fucking things up for, like, a century since became an Overseer.

He picked up the phone. He was certain they had some decent artifacts to use as catalysts. He was having some fun, if everything else failed. It wasn't as this Grail War would kill him, after all.

It had been... what? Forty years? Yeah, forty years in which he had not shot anyone in the face.

Time to make some calls.


	2. Crow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where a bargain is struck- and someone gets bonus pay.

John walked through the streets of Alagadda.  
  
He had someone to meet today.  
  
Oh. There it was. The palace library.  
  
Walking through the ornate door, he searched for someone.  
  
The strange creature. An invaluable source of information.  
  
The Wandsman of Kul-Manas. Oh. There he was. Just sitting there, staring at a scroll in the library. All jet black and covered in feathers. He was clad in a the same crimson and gold cloak of always.  
  
The scholar's appearance was bizarre to humans like him. A hunchback birdy humanoid. He supposed it didn't matter.  
  
_-Oh, you._  
  
He had noticed him, huh? John took his hat off, looking into the Wandsman's eyes. It spoke in a strange way, too. Sounded similar to a parrot. Then again, it didn't matter. He was here for a reason.  
  
- _You are the servant of the Deathless Merchant of London that I was supposed to meet, aren't you?_  
  
He nodded.  
  
_-Very well. I am Ickis the Wayward, Wandsman of Kul-Manas; Sailor of the Celestial Sea, Walker of the Astral Plane, Spelunker of the Dimensional Depths. Sorry for the long title, but I rather like it._  
  
Now it was his turn for all of the pointless etiquette.  
  
-Great Wandsman, I have come to you on behalf of the Deathless Merchant of London so that we might achieve an agreement regarding the Holy Grail War.  
  
The bird-man stared at him for a while, then spoke in a saddened tone.  
  
- _Holy Grail War? Will you be the contestant for the Merchant, young human?_  
  
He smacked a shelf of books with his clawed hand.  
  
_-Based on my experiences, about the Dark lady that visited us last time, I believed she would retrieve a catalyst herself. Why didn't she?_  
  
John wordlessly Projected a sheet of paper and handed it to him.  
  
_-Hmm.. so these are the plans of the Merchant._  
  
The Wandsman then retrieved a small key from... somewhere, and handed it to him.  
  
- _Do you truly desire this? To summon him from the Throne... the Merchant is truly bold._  
  
He nodded again.  
  
- _Very well. We shall take our leave, for the Ambassador will soon return._  
  
The Wandsman stood up and walked through a door that he was certain wasn't there a minute ago. Screw it. He was going through.  
  
After the strange sensation of walking through a dimensional portal, he found himself in another new world.  
  
The sky was jet black. The Wandsman tapped him in the shoulder.  
  
- _This land has no sun, so there is only eternal night. Do not be afraid. She will soon be here, and then we will strike our deal._  
  
He wasn't. He could wait.  
  
He and the Wandsman sat in there, unmoving, for a few minutes. Then he heard footsteps. He immediately moved and pointed his handgun at the direction of the sound had came.  
  
-So you try this with everyone you want to make a deal with?  
  
There she was. He was supposed to make the deal with her.  
  
A girl that seemed barely out of her teenage years, with black hair and green eyes, clad in regal black robes. A dark crown floated over her head.  
  
-No. I had to be sure you were who you say you are.  
  
She chuckled. He placed the handgun where it was supposed to be. The Wandsman attempted to clear his throat like a human would and call their attention, but his particular anatomy wouldn't let him.  
  
_-I suppose you brought it here, Black Queen?_  
  
She tapped her floating crown, and it spun a little.  
  
-Yes. I brought it. Did you bring the stones, agent of the Merchants?  
  
He nodded and took it from his pocket. Two white stones, with some black markings. He did not know what they were, and frankly did not care in the slightest. He was here to make a deal, and he was damned if he wouldn't make a deal.  
  
-This is what you wanted, wasn't it?  
  
She nodded back to him, and took her crown off. It begun to shift and turn, the illusion around it being unmade. Soon, it was a simple vial, filled with blood. She handed the vial to him.  
  
-I, Black Queen Aeqirman, hand his this blood to you. Now, Wandsman, seal our deal when you strike your own bargain with him.  
  
The Wandsman nodded, and revealed a small spear tip, that looked very old and resonated with a strange feeling.  
  
He handed a stone to each of them, and the Wandsman placed the spear tip in his hand.  
  
_-I, Ickis the Wayward, Wandsman of Kul-Manas, hand this spear to you. The bargain is complete. I shall take my leave._  
  
He then left, vanishing into the darkness. The Black Queen stared at him.  
  
-Are you sure Dark knows what she's doing?  
  
He shrugged. He didn't care in the end. She laughed and blew him a kiss.  
  
-See you later.  
  
Then she disappeared as well, leaving him entirely alone.


	3. Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where an unfortunate man, brought low by the world, makes a terrible decision.

The mage stared at the tome in his hands. It didn't look like what he was expecting.  
  
-Is... this... the book?  
  
The cultist pointed a skinless finger at it, and hissed.  
  
_-This is indeed the book you sought, Kayneth El-Melloi. Treat me with respect or I will choke you with your own entrails._  
  
Kayneth went pale, and nodded frantically.  
  
-Yes. Here's the payment.  
  
He handed a small disk to the cultist, who hissed again, this time in apparent pleasure, at its touch.  
  
_-Good. Now leave, weak serpent. I have much to do._  
  
The mage scrambled out of the room, while the monstrous beasts the cultist held howled and screeched at him.  
  
Walking through the halls of the abandoned mansion, he tried to ignore the horrible screams coming out of the walls. The walls had mouths. He knew this was a bad idea.  
  
A sound echoed. He had tepped in something. When Kayneth looked at it, only to see a deformed heart crushed under his foot, he could only wish that this visit would end soon.  
  
He clutched the anomalous pistol his allies in the Hand had given him, and hoped he would not have to use it.  
  
After a few minutes, he walked out of the mansion. His ally waited outside, smoking a pipe.  
  
-Kayneth. You picked up the book?  
  
He sighed and nodded. His ally threw the pipe away, and unlocked his car's doors with a mere gesture.  
  
-Great. This one will be a great catalyst. Get in the car.  
  
As they drove away from the decrepit mansion, Kayneth stared at the codex.  
  
-What kind of... catalyst is this?  
  
The other mage laughed.  
  
-Not a mere _catalyst,_ Kayneth.  
  
He opened the book, and passed the pages. It was... a self-help book? It seemed harmless. _Star Signals._ Well _,_ if one ignored the large SCP-1425 warning stamped in the cover. Vier laughed louder.  
  
-Yeah, buddy. I told you I had the good stuff. This book in there is a damn Fifthist text! This thing is a death sentence to almost every group in the world. They would shoot us dead if they found this, Kayneth.  
  
He flipped through the pages. It... was weird. It started like normal text, then it seemed to degenerate into word salad. Strange. But it seemed to be immensely dangerous. He couldn't get why.  
  
-Will this... _book_. Summon a... powerful Servant?  
  
Vier looked at him like he was insane, then went silent. For the rest of the journey, they didn't speak a word.  
  
When they reached the city, Vier stopped the car in front of a hotel. He breathed deeply and pointed at the book.  
  
- _Powerful?_ Whatever the hell your crazy ritual will summon, it will certainly be damn powerful. Probably weird, but powerful. Just trust me. And _don't read it!_  
  
He grabbed Kayneth by the collar of his shirt, and opened the car's door. As he pushed him out, he said in his ear:  
  
- _Don't read it. You will die._  
  
After he had threw the mage out, Vier threw the book at him and laughed.  
  
-Don't take this into the airport, too! The jailors will kill you, Kayneth!  
  
Then he turned the car on again.  
  
-See you later!  
  
And before Kayneth could recover or realize what had happened, Vier had already drove away.


	4. Sheath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where someone gets their hands in a pretty thing, and an old man hates another old man like old men like to do.

Emiya Kiritsugu and Irisviel answered the summons of the head of the Einzbern family.

They both moved to the the dark castle's prayer room.

Since the Foundation obtained the Grail, their power and influence froze, and their search for its mysteries was filled with humiliation, suffering and opposition.

Even through they had decided to not remove the guarantee that the three founding families would always participate, placed in the Grail so many years ago, they had nonetheless changed many things about its design and construction.

These three houses held different points of view regarding this.

The Tohsakas accepted the Foundation's modifications to the Grail, even if they were rather antagonistic at first, and though the years, became treasured allies of its Magecraft Department within the Clocktower.

The Matou were forced to comply to them in order to survive, as their influence dwindled and their bloodline grew weaker, and received a key artifact as an additional bribe.

But the Einzbern did not.

In every Heaven's Feel ritual, they never succeeded, as their Master always failed to prevent the Foundation from forcing the War into an unwinnable situation.

Their solution was to hire a magus specialized in fighting, from outside the family. Emiya Kiritsugu.

The old magus king of the castle awaited Kiritsugu and Irisviel in front of the sacrificial altar.

Jubstacheit von Einzbern, AKA "Acht", was the eighth head of the Einzbern family. He had lived for almost two centuries, leading the Einzberns through every one of the Grail wars. Old Acht has suffered the pain of defeat many times.

He was decided to not lose this one, or the old man would make him pay.

-The holy relic we requested people to find in Cornwall finally arrived this morning.

Acht stared at Kiritsugu. He had lived in the old castle for a long time. Pointing his fingers towards the large, black box, his eyes shone with detrmination. He took the box from the altar, and handed it to hi

\- Using this as a catalyst, it would be possible to summon the strongest Heroic Spirit of the Sword. Kiritsugu, count this as the Einzbern family's greatest aid to you.

He bowed deeply and answered, feigning respect.

-I am deeply grateful, dear head of family.

The Command Seal had appeared on Kiritsugu’s right hand three years ago, even through he was not a true member of the family.

The old man looked at Irisviel.

-Irisviel, have you or your husband managed to obtain information on _his_ plans?

"Him" could only mean one person. Acht only spoke with this fury in his voice when speaking of one person. O5-8. Overseer Eight of the Foundation.

Acht's nemesis, his arch-enemy. The man who, according to the Einzbern head of family, had been making sure the Einzberns won no Holy Grail wars for over a century.

-No. We have not.

Acht looked at the altar, hatred in his eyes.

-I am absolutely sure _he_ will be here. We _must_ win this war. Were this accursed man to even succeed, he would destroy all I fought and bled for.

He slammed his fist at it, creating a large crack.

-He would _destroy_ the Golden Grail _._ This time...

Acht spoke three words, coating every syllable with hateful venom.

_-He will die._

He breathed deeply and looked again into his eyes.

-They certainly have already readied the vessel.

He came closer to him, and whispered in his ear.

_-Win._

Old man Acht, eyes shining with insane strength, stood at the altar and looked at the window.

-This time... no one must survive. Kill all Servants but our own- this time we must acquire the Third Magic, the Golden Grail.

Hearing the burning fervor in the old man’s command, he and Irisviel answered simultaneously.

-Yes, sir.

It did not matter. Through his hands, Kiritsugu Emiya would grant Jubstacheit von Einzbern his desire: the Holy Grail.

And he would use that omnipotent chalice to grant his own deepest wish.

A few minutes later, they went back to their own rooms, and opened the box Acht had given them.

-Who would've thought... They were actually able to find this thing...

A scabbard, gold and blue. No flaws, no mistakes. An absolutely flawless work, but it was not hard to craft a flawless work nowadays.

Through the power of anomalies, any street anartist could fake this.

What truly proved this scabbard was the true one, what proved it was not a lie, were the Fairy Letters.

One organization, in the entire world, held access to a possible method of faking such a relic, which laid in **the forest of the endless name.** But few knew of that place, and even fewer knew it still existed.

Entranced by its beauty, they looked at it for a while.

He and Irisviel knew what would happen. Who this scabbard would summon.

Kiritsugu knew that he and the King of Knights would conflict. But he did not care. He would win this war.

Speaking of the War, he had some reports to read, didn't he?


	5. Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where someone learns that stealing is bad, and a child isn't thrown in a pit of rape worms.

Zouken Matou was going to die.

Zouken Matou did not want to die.

- _You little thief... did you really think you could take it from us?_

The sarkic cultist's witch-hounds had devoured almost all of his worms, and the Akuloths he had stolen were... corrupting the rest.

He did not understand how. In matter of seconds, these white vermin had taken control of his worms. Thus, the Sarkics had gained full control of them.

That distorted man opened his monstrous maw and begun to chant.

- _Our sacred white worm... our sacred white worm..._

He was running out of Blood Worms... and he had virtually no means to attack beyond a few combat familiars. He did not believe they would be enough.

_\- As Orok said to the Kytherans: Power is made from the pain of the fragile. Here weakness dies..._

The fool was distracted. He could escape. Separating some worms from his main body, Zouken Matou begun to open a hole on the mansion's wooden floor. As the Sarkic continued to preach holy words to no one in particular, he sent these worms through the hole.

_-Here strength is born. I exert myself, a pale reflection of Ion's sacrifice of flesh to the intolerable for-_

Now!

Sending a blade worm into the fool's head, Zouken Matou threw a large part of himself in the hole. Relieved, he slumped over as the hounds came closer. The Sarkic's skull had already healed. He continued to preach, not wasting a single breath.

_-force, and shed frailty's husk. I commune with my akuloth core - my sacred metamorphosis complete."_

Suddenly, he stopped and looked at Zouken.

_-Why?_

...What?

_-Why did you steal our sacred white worm? We could have given it to you, had you asked._

What? They... would have given him the worms?

- _You are a fool. Had you sought redemption with us and forsook your dark ambition, you could have understood the truth._

The monster's maw curved and twisted until it became a horrible mockery of a smile.

- _We will seek your weak son next. Byakuka? I think it was Byaukuka..._

He was distracted again. What a ridiculous fool. He did not care about him in the slightest. He was more worried about losing Sakura- the child has much more valuable.

_-I pity the boy for having grown with you as a father... how can you father anything with that husk of a body?_

This had been going on for too long. The worms were already escaping from the house. He could reform later. He would unfortunately lose the child, but survival was a higher priority.

_-But this husk will serve us well._

As the hounds devoured that body, Zouken Matou was relieved that he had escaped. Had the Sarkic been a bit smarter, he would be doomed. He also made a mental note to stay away from the Sarkic white worms.

Roughly a day later, the Matou mansion had already been redecorated with traditional Sarkic decoration. Swollen tumors, red bulging sacks of living flesh and meat wallpapers.

- _It's amazing!_

Karcist Lavalken danced through the hallways.

_-It's beautiful!_

All of his worms had been dissolved and used for a much better purpose. He laughed and shifted his body. In a matter of seconds, the withered form of Zouken stood where the Karcist was a second ago.

He shifted back and looked through a door. Zouken Matou was truly a fool. His "training" was inneficient, and in his view, completely pointless.

The child was a true boon to him and his objectives. It could be molded into a powerful weapon for the faith.

The Karcist stroked Sakura's purple hair softly, analyzing her sleeping orm. Since he had... shifted her form to purge Zouken's worms, she seemed different. Calmer. Yet, she had yet to wake up.

He had rushed the purification a bit, but a worm or two wouldn't matter... would they?

Now, for the other child. Shinji Matou.

He did not possess the gift of magecraft, unfortunately. However, he could still be useful as an acolyte if nothing else. He did not possess the gift himself, until he became a Karcist.

Analysis of the worms revealed that Zouken was still alive. However, Lavalken doubted the husk would be capable of summoning a Servant.

The Grail always made sure the Matou would enter the Grail War. He doubted he could enter it himself. The children were too young, and Byaku... something was a broken shell of a man. He could be repaired, but that would take time.

But the family had a viable Master. Just not here.

And Karcist Vainken had a perfect bargaining chip to convince said Master to work for him.


	6. Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where someone gets shot in the face, and someone drinks water.

O5-8 hid inside of his office. Waiting.

He touched his pendant. So they were gone.

Walking out of his hiding spot, he readied his pistol. Caution wouldn't cost him anything. He was already doomed, after all.

But he still had something to do. O5-8 was getting out of here. He knew was going to die, yes. It was obvious.

Just not today. He still had things to do.

The old man stared at the crate in the corner. Adam had said it was a stupid idea to commission this.

Well, who's laughing now, thought him, as he stared at the large, steampunk shotgun. He was. Because wasn't defenseless, at least. The Red Right Hand was surely going to take some casualties tonight.

The Mekhanites were bastards- but they had good weapons. That was obvious.

There was also some other things he still needed to take from the crate.

A small, brown box. The catalyst.

A wine bottle, filled to the brim with SCP-006. The good stuff. He had been keeping this one for three decades. Every few months, he took a vial of it from the river. Nothing too weird. The rest of the Council didn't bat an eye. But he hid it here. It was almost full.

His secret stash of The Immortality Juice. This thing here would let him buy a lot of things.

Endless riches. Power. Enough shares of MC&D to put his own initials in the company name. Both of them.

The map of his facility was there, too.

He opened it and started to think. This was going to be hard. There were going to be soldiers waiting at every corner, just waiting to kill him and bring his head to the rest of the Council.

Eight stared at his shotgun.

He took the Catalyst out of the box and hid it in his breast pocket, still covered by the plastic layer.

-They want me dead now. Should have expected it.

Then, he opened the door of his office, looked at the wine bottle, he placed it between his arms and walked out.

-But I've been here for half a century.

He could escape this death trap of a facility. He just had to play it safe. But should he?

-I know this place. They don't.

And O5-8 ran towards the containment cells.

In his way, he had to be careful to avoid the MTF.

He had decades of experience, but the soldiers that came to dispatch him were the most effective the Foundation had.

But he had a plan.

First, he could mislead them. The normal blueprints and maps of this site did not show his office. The top-secret O5 maps revealed an office... the wrong one.

It had taken him 20 years to place these fake maps in the records. Adam, god bless his soul, was the only one who knew this.

Second, he would distract them. Broadcasting cognitohazards over the site had given him a few minutes.

Some people would be out of shape after forty years of desk work. Not him. He was ready for this.

No one was going to stop him now. He had two minutes at best, and he was going to use them.

He took a restrained swig from the bottle. Now he could heal his wounds.

He was nearly reaching the containment cells. He laughed.

Oh. He was wrong. Damn Red Right Hand.

-O5-8! Surrender. You are officially-

A voice spoke from the MTF's communicators. This one was obviously younger then the others. They would have just gunned him down.

A year ago, he had supported a decision in the Council.

Should an O5 betray the Foundation, should we send the _entire_ Red Right Hand at them?

Yes, we should, he had said. Even the newbies. Even the ones who just left the other MTFs to join.

When they had invaded his site, Eight had remembered that day, and called himself an idiot.

Now? He was very happy.

_-Soldier. Stop this. Do not point your weapon towards him. Let me speak to him._

The soldier seemed surprised, to say the least, but complied.

So someone wanted to say some last words to him.

-Very well, sir. Overseer Four will speak with target.

Eight laughed at the soldier. Four. The bastard probably wanted answers.

-Oh. It's you, Four! Damn, how's it going?

A long, drawn-out sigh came from the device.

- _Eight... what are you doing? You can't enter the War._

Said Overseer pointed his shotgun towards the MTF.

-Sorry, soldier. But you need to die.

The gun released a burst of superheated shrapnel, killing the soldier instantly. Interestingly, the device which Four was using to speak through was completely intact.

However, the soldier had a second to react, and shot him in his stomach. Damn, this guy was really badly trained.

He was such a genius. That tactic of sending all forces... how forward-thinking of him.

- _So you won't comply. What do you want, Eight?_

He laughed again. He wanted answers.

-Don't call me that, Four. We all know I'm not an Overseer anymore.

- _Yes. You aren't... Blake. You stopped being the moment you entered the Grail War. Why did you do that? What is your wish?_

Blake took off his glove, revealing a rune written in his left hand, then pointing it towards the corpse. The Command Seals.

-You can see me, can't you? You planned this from the start.

Four was impatient, now.

- _What do you want with the Grail? You're a dead man. All of their bullets are tipped with a material that should have killed your sorry ass in seconds. Why aren't you dead yet?_

-Four... really? Did you really think that would kill me?

_-Of course. I know every corrupted paratech implant you shoved in that deformed chest cavity of yours. You're tough, but I know how to kill you._

Blake was now laughing loudly. Thank God for his foresight. He wouldn't die. He was sure of it. The water would keep him alive.

_-But I don't care. What is your wish? I know you, Blake, and you're a **sick** , worthless little man! Nothing you wish could possibly be-_

He came closer to the equipment, and placed a finger in his lips.

-Shhh... hear me, old friend. You want to know my wish?

Four's voice came, cold and furious.

_-I do._

The former O5 answered, slowly:

-I want the Grail gone.

Then, he pointed his gun the device. And, before Four could answer, annihilated it with a blast of energy.

Switching settings in his gun again, Blake stood up. He looked at the bullet hole in his stomach, and inserted his hand inside of it. Removing the projectile with his bare hands, he watched as the wound healed.

-Transhumanism is fucking amazing, Four. But magic immortality juice is also amazing, don't forget that.

Then, he walked towards the containment cells.

-I think I hid the teleporter here somewhere.

He tapped the wall, and a door opened.

-Oh. What a forgetful old man I am.

He walked inside, and looked at the smoldering remains of the soldier's audio devices.

-Well, Four. You're not going to hear this message, but I'll tell you anyway.

He bowed to the wrecked machine.

-The game's almost starting. You better get ready.

And then, he vanished without a trace.

Five seconds later, the room exploded spetacularly, reducing this section of the facility into a smoldering wreck.

As the Red Right Hand was kept busy for a few minutes, the time it took for them to recontain the loose anomalies, and as such, no one could accurately track the location of the former Overseer Eight.

He liked it that way.


	7. SCP-2491 Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where some key aspects are above your clearance.

**Item #:** SCP-2491

**Object Class:** ~~Euclid~~ Keter

**Special Containment Procedures:** As SCP-2491-1 cannot be moved due to concerns related to procedure ABGRUND, a Foundation Site with the temporary designation of Site-Grail is to be mantained in the general area. MTF Eta-2, "Last Supper" is to remain in the genral area, in order to locate any accidental visitors to SCP-2491 and amnesticize them. Due to secondary requirements of procedure ABGRUND, the city of Fuyuki, localized in the proximity of SCP-2491-1, must be kept in ignorance of its existance. Procedure ABGRUND is to be realized once every 60 years.

Foundation personnel are not to directly participate in procedure ABGRUND without express permission of a member of the O5 Council. This does not apply to personnel tasked with repairs of SCP-2491-1, personnel tasked with the creation and utilization of SCP-2491-2, individuals affected by SCP-2491-5 and members of MTF Eta-2.

**Description:** SCP-2491 is composed of various different anomalies and a number of entities produced by their anomalous effects. These anomalies are:

  * SCP-2491-1, a thaumathurgical device built around the 18th century.
  * SCP-2491-2, a secondary item vital in the completion of procedure ABGRUND.
  * SCP-2491-3, anomalous entities created by SCP-2491-1.
  * SCP-2491-4, are weapons or techniques possessed by SCP-2491-3 instances, possessing unique anomalous properties.
  * SCP-2491-5, an anomalous mark which allows for control and enhancement of SCP-2491-3 instances.



SCP-2491-1 is a large construction dedicated to thaumaturgical workings, employing the advanced method referred as "Third Magic" or "Heaven's Feel" and fueling itself through the absorption of large amounts of magical energy. That energy is initially obtained from the environment, but SCP-2491-2 is also needed in later stages of procedure ABGRUND. This construction acts as a dimensional portal to the normally inaccessible dimension referred as "Akasha" or "Swirl of the Root", that is the main objective of thaumathurges affiliated with the Group of Interest "Mage's Association", upon completion of procedure ABGRUND.

SCP-2491-2 is currently an ornate golden cup, created to assist in the completion of procedure ABGRUND. It possesses the capacity to absorb the energy produced through the destruction of SCP-2491-3 instances.

It was theorized by Magecraft Department personnel that the effectiveness of the procedure would be increased if a living organism was created to fulfill this role, but the concept was not accepted by the Ethics Committee.

SCP-2491-3, often referred as "Servants" or "Heroic Spirits" by GoI-0023, are thaumaturgical creations made through the same advanced method employed by SCP-2491-1. Said entities are often copies of famous historical and mythological figures, though individuals connected to Groups of Interest, namely the Church of the Broken God, the Sarkic Cults and a predecessor to the Fifth Church.

The instances are created through a procedure which also connects the instance to a human host, referred as "Master" who is needed to continually supply the instance with a constant supply of energy. If the supply of energy is exhausted, or the host is terminated, the instance cannot survive for long. Some instances possess the ability referred as "Independent Action", and as such, can continue to exist even without a Master.

These instances are normally unable to be harmed by non-anomalous weaponry, though the presence of anomalous metals in the construction of otherwise non-anomalous devices seems to counter that defense to a degree, allowing these weapons to cause minor wounds. Experimental Foundation equipment was successful in destroying a -3 instance, but their usage was deemed impractical due to damages suffered by the equipment.

These instances often receive a designation indicating their main method of combat and SCP-2491-4 instance. Observed ones were:

  * Archer (Possessed ranged weapons, and possess the "Independent Action" ability.)
  * Saber (Possessed bladed weapons and possess strong thaumaturgical resistance. Said resistance was great)
  * Berserker (Berserker instances possess no particular weapon preference, but possess greater combat capacities at the cost of increased mental instability, and tend to induce strain on their Master)
  * Foreigner (No particular abilities observed.)
  * Caster (Possessed lower-then-usual physical combat skills, but thaumaturgical skills were reportedly superior to almost all modern thaumaturges.)
  * Lancer (No particular abilities observed- according to the testimony of the instance, abilities are activated upon death.)
  * Rider (Destroyed before Foundation intervention.)
  * Assassin (Destroyed before Foundation intervention.)



Instances of SCP-2491-3 often possess anomalous and thaumaturgical abilities, or heightened combat capacities. However, there are exceptions- the "Foreigner" instance summoned by the "Einzbern" thaumaturges during the third occurrence of procedure ABGRUND did not possess any abilities beyond the ones displayed by a non-anomalous human. Instance was destroyed by MTF Eta-2 member through the use of a mundane pistol. Said pistol used thaumaturgically-enhanced bullets capable of targeting incorporeal anomalies. No further modifications to the bullet were added.

After the destruction of a -3 instance, their thaumaturgical bodies will decay, and said decay will produce a large amount of energy. Said energy is then transported through anomalous means to SCP-2491-2, where it will be stored until the completion of procedure ABGRUND.

SCP-2491-4 is the designation given to several tools, devices and techniques possessed by -3 instances, which are also referred as "Noble Phantasms" by their original users. Each instance possesses a set number of them and they are often unable to attain or produce more.

An instance possesses a "true ability" with can only be activated by shouting the instance's name.

The instances of SCP-2491-4 and their properties are connected to folklore, anectdotes and accomplisments of the original person the -3 instance is based on. Only three -4 instances were observed, of which two are currently in containment.

  * "Shift Spear" held by Lancer instance. Black spear with a orange-yellow blade. Anomalous property of shifting into a sword and back into a spear- no other properties revealed. In containment.
  * "Hammer-1" held by Berserker instance. Unknown active property. Decayed after Berserker's destruction, currently non-functional.
  * "Thunderer" held by Archer instance. Colt M1877 double-action revolver. No passive anomalous effects- seemingly usable only by original -3 instance. When the instance shouted its name, the pistol fired an anomalously charged bullet, and destroyed the Berserker instance (which was attempting to crush Archer with its hammer) instantly. Archer instance identified as "Billy the Kid", an outlaw and gunfighter of the American Old West. In containment.



SCP-2491-5 is a mark, that appears in the hands of individuals selected by SCP-2491-1, and allows them to perform the procedure that creates the -3 instances, and to serve as hosts or "Masters" to them. It seems to also allow three orders to be issued to a -3 instance- which will then receive a boost in power to fulfill said orders.

**Addendum SCP-2491.1:** Discovery

* * *

CREDENTIALS INVALID

INSUFFICIENT CLEARANCE

PLEASE REQUEST HIGHER CLEARANCE CREDENTIALS BEFORE ACESSING THIS FILE

* * *

**Addendum SCP-2492.2:** Procedure ABGRUND

* * *

CREDENTIALS INVALID

INSUFFICIENT CLEARANCE

PLEASE REQUEST HIGHER CLEARANCE CREDENTIALS BEFORE ACESSING THIS FILE[/SPOILER]

* * *


	8. Somber Worm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where someone starts their training, and no children are thrown in rapeworm pits.

Kariya Matou's world was pain.

He had struck a deal with that cursed man. The Karcist.

He would enter the Grail War, and in exchange, Sakura would be free.

The Karcist had claimed he held great mental strength, and that he would almost certainly win. However, he had almost no magus training- so several implants had been given to him.

The list of modifications was extensive: first, a secondary set of small organs inserted in his chest. Several things had been removed to make space- namely a lung and his liver.

These missing organs had then been replaced with new ones, smaller ones.

His arms had been amputated and replaced with strange ones, with stronger bones and organic blades inside of each finger. This particular procedure had been done while he was sleeping.

He would have never agreed with that one.

For three whole months, the Karcist played with his body in ways that would leave any mundane surgeon utterly dumbfounded. Lavalken's more invasive procedures had, thankfully, been performed with the use of anesthesia. The Sarkic cultist was honestly quite gentle and kind- were one to ignore his strange habits.

Lavalken tended to rant about his religion in the middle of delicate procedures. This had resulted in some accidents, namely the time where he had gained three hearts. In the end, he only removed one- their efficiency was very high and he felt better then ever.

_-The heart is silenced, before her dagger seen. A moment immortalized in a single strike- oh. Did you have three hearts before, boy?_

_-No..._

_-Oh, your throat is filled with blood. I'll clean it. Hm... The Judgment - unavoidable, inescapable. Dismay; a death inconceivable. To the arrogance of Daeva..._

He shuddered. That memory had been not a pleasant one.

However, it was not actually disgusting- he had not felt anything too horrible during the procedure. The only sign that he was choking was that he couldn't breathe as well.

The only truly revolting and painful part was the Akuloth worm.

He had been nauseated when the Karcist revealed the creature- it brought back horrible memories regarding Zouken and his disgusting... _everything._

In the end, it had been an extremely painful procedure. He felt like his body was turning against him, his organs burned and the worm's secretions eventually forced him into a drugged haze, a haze that ultimately could not do anything to lessen the pain.

After that, his body shifted at a rate faster than he had ever imagined. The process was slow in some parts- he had not felt any difference in his muscle mass, even through Lavalken had claimed the worm would stimulate their growth.

The Karcist's training was not as radical as his surgeries were- but it was close. Even with the surgeries, the spartan regimen had left every inch of his body burning.

He had been pushed to his absolute limit, then forced to break past it with the Akuloth's aid.

The Magus association would kill for one- and in fact, it had. Lavalken revealed to him that Akuloth worms were extremely sought after by most magi.

Why? They served as Magic Cores.

This had left him in shock until the Sarkic explained it wasn't nearly as efficient as the real thing.

_-They aren't worth half of a mage, boy. Unless you are a Karcist. Ours are worth twenty mages._

Apparently, theirs was the real thing, and it only worked for them.

He had once read in one of Lavalken's tomes, that it not for the Great Union, eighty years ago, in which many Proto-Sarkic cults and communites had banded together and formed their own communities, many of them would have been devoured by the at the time extremely powerful Mage's Association.

The Sarkic found it very funny.

- _Yes, yes, they would kill some old crumbling villages. But when the we, Karcists, came down on their association, they would all die. We have a lot of beasts, all of them just waiting in their cages, boy._

The worm had also been sought after by Zouken- who wanted to implant _four_ of them within Sakura's heart. According to Lavalken, this would have not killed her- just completely shattered her mind.

_-Zouken didn't know this truth, boy. The pitful husk wouldn't have made a viable heir, just a broken shell of a girl._

He had a feeling Zouken would not care.

His Magic Circuits weren't very useful- he had almost no practice with them- and would at best serve to support a Servant's existance.

But the Akuloth would at least keep him alive, wouldn't it?

And he had to stay alive.

All he had to do was participate in the War. Not even win.

He just had to call his Servant. Well, Lavalken said he would expect him to win- but he promised he would give Sakura and Shinji to him, even if he lost.

And... what would he do, then? Would he have to raise them? He didn't trust Tokiomi to take care of them, and Aoi...

Well...

Anyway, Lavalken had treated her well. She was still changed into a completely different person by Zouken's filthy "training"... but she was getting better.

Her eyes were empty and she spoke with no emotion, but there was still hope that she would once be the girl he knew.

He hoped she would be better.

He truly did not know what he would do if she wasn't.


	9. Price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where someone bombs a Site, and a pretty octopus escapes.

Site-72 burned.

At midnight, several bombs had been detonated in key points around its structure.

Security had already attempted to call for help, but it would take time for said help to arrive. Hammer Down was on their way, but they could do nothing if the site was already destroyed when they finally reached their destination.

Meanwhile, the invaders, armed to the teeth, searched the site for their target.

The Insurgency was looking for someone, and they had caught the Foundation in their most vulnerable moment.

Recently, there had been a containment breach. Several anomalies had escaped and caused heavy casualties. The site's security was weakened- and the Insurgency had used this moment of weakness to strike.

A week later, an investigation would reveal the researcher responsible for said breach had been behaving strangely before the event. A bizarre coincidence, indeed.

While their forces ravaged the site, a small origami spider panicked in his cell.

Aímact Priest Alison Killian of the Church of the Second Hytoth, also known as SCP-2417, was very, very afraid.

They were here for her, he was sure. Two of them had already entered the prison. She had been unfortunately forced to kill them.

She was acting like a damned Daeva.

No. She needed to calm down. What could she do here?

Maybe, she could destroy the forces of evil, yes. She could crush them all with her holy form. Well, this was not helping. She was being delusional if she thought she could do this.

So...

Escape? Flee? Yes, that was the better option. Quickly moving through the door, Allison ran to her freedom.

The origami legs she possessed were surprisingly quick for their size.

The soldiers had seemingly devastated this site. Looking at the ruined corpses of these poor scientists made her sick.

After looking at the security guards, she felt the need to vomit. She did not possess a stomach, but nevertheless felt it.

They had been obviously tortured before dying. She absorbed their blood, and uttered prayers for their souls.

- _May you reach the Eitoth. You did not deserve this._

Suddenly, a bullet moved just past her head. Oh no.

The soldiers were here. Six of them. She was doomed. The soldiers pointed their guns towards him.

- _SCP-2417, surrender. You are being rescued from the Foundation's cruelty and return you to your Church._

What kind of _rescue_ was this? She was _absolutely_ sure these... these... _madmen_ did not work for her Church. They dared to call her captors _cruel,_ when they had acted with all of the malevolence of a Vorteut?

No self-respecting faithful of the Koru-teusa would accept these monsters into their fold.

Or... did they? No, no, no. They wouldn't do this. She was certain. Certain!

Now, this was obviously a lie. She couldn't fall into their hands. These men were dangerous and co-

_-J̷̡̛̠̯̬͓̣̰̝̠̳͈̬̫̣͐͒̊̓̽̑̓̏̓̽̌̕ý̸̳͙̉̎͐͒͋̽́̕̕͝͝u̵̧̪͇̰̰͇̰͉̗̞͇͖̩͋͌͋͊̈́̂̃͑͛͌͆͘̚̕o̷̮̖̙͉͇͚͊̈͂̓̊͒̎̉͋̎̌͂͘ ̴̧̡̮̩̩̝͓̯̟̘̆̑͌͑̏̃ͅͅḩ̴̻̪͍̑͊͂̔́̑̐͆͋͘̚e̷̡̙̬͎̤̪̱̩̜̤͙͛͛̓̊͛͒̂̎̿̾̑͘̕l̴̦̤͆͆̽̑̓̾̅̐͋͘͠ ̵̩̜̮̩̖̰̟̻͓̅n̶̡̛̘̼̭̓̉̒̒͒̊̋͋́͜͠o̸̠̩̳̲̟̮̞͇̻̣̱̜̾̓̌͒̈̈́͐͑͒͘͝,̶̢̪̺͓͇̻̥̽ ̴͉̈́̃͜h̵̢̡̡̥̭͍̗̰̜͈͍̩̿́̏͒̇̾̾̐ȇ̵͍͚̰e̴͉̋͐̅̾̒̋ͅr̵͎̿_

What was this? _Daeva chaos-tongue!?_ The soldiers were already screaming. Were it not for hes own blessings, she would have gone insane. She had to flee. It was the only option.

A tall man stood in the corridor. He had uttered these unholy words, she was certain. She retracted and folded herself, to fight more efficiently.

-Hmmm. So you're the priestess?

He knew who she was. She pointed one of her tentacles towards him.

-Who are you?

He chuckled.

-An agent of the Hand. I'm here to get you out of this place before the Insurgency could snatch an _Aim-actor_ priest.

-Aímact.

-What?

-It's Aímact, not _Aim-actor._

He looked at her incredulously, and burst out laughing.

-I come here to save you from the Madmen, and you correct my pronounciation of Ortothan words? Anyway, we should go.

He worked for the Serpent's Hand. She wasn't a fool- she knew who they were. But why did they interfere here?

-You're probably wondering why I'm here, aren't you? Well, I'm here because we have an alliance with your Church.

An alliance? The man turned away.

-Come with me, and I'll explain it all. Let's just say we've got a plan. Unless you want to get kidnapped by the Madmen.

She... had no option. These soldiers were definitely not anything good. She walked towards the man, who extended his hand to her.

-Let's go, priestess. We have much to do.

As Allison wrapped her form in his hand, the agent's skin begun to grow more and more transparent.

Her own body followed, until they could not be seen anymore.

Minutes later, the Insurgency had to flee, as the Foundation's forces has finally arrived. They could not complete their mission.

And a bargain was struck.

Somewhere else, the former Overseer Eight, now merely Blake, sat at a table. He was absolutely sure no Servants had been summoned yet.

At his side, a perfect summoning circle awaited.

He snickered, and looked absentmindedly at the black box. A single Key of Solomon waited inside. One of seven artifacts, which had almost destroyed the world.

-Oh, this is going to be _perfect._


	10. Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where a nice conversation happens, and there are absolutely no shady dealings happening behind the scenes.

-Don't you want some tea, Allison?

She wanted tea. Unfortunately, her origami body could not consume it anymore. She slumped over in her chair.

-No, I can't drink tea.

He looked at her and nodded in understanding, pointing towards the single empty chair in the area. They were in the Wanderer's Library, waiting, for about a hour. The books were good, yes, but she was getting nervous.

-Very well. Do not worry. Dark is coming soon.

Dark. One of the three directors of the world's most powerful anomalous business. What kind of bargain did the Church make with them?

She heard a noise. Footsteps.

A young woman stepped into the room, wearing a black suit. She looked at her, looking interested.

-You are Allison Kiluan, aren't you?

She nodded. She smirked and extended her hand. She shook it with one of her tentacles.

-I am White. I am an emissary of Iris Dark.

She then placed a box in the table. A wooden box.

-Do you know what this is?

She shifted her paper body and shook her paper head.

-Well, before I explain, he needs to give you a history lesson. Dan?

The Serpent's Hand agent nodded, and Dark sat on the chair. He pointed towards the teapot.

-Would you like some tea, White?

She smiled and shook her head. With a hand gesture, he created an illusion.

-Do not worry about her. She's only here to make a delivery.

Three people, sitting in a table. A white-haired woman in a dress, a blue-haired man in a suit and a black-haired man in a kimono.

-Do you know what the Holy Grail is?

The Christian artifact? Yes, she did. Dan pointed towards the illusion

-Well, it's not that one. Do you see these three people here?

-The three founding families. These three created a large construct, known as the Holy Grail, inside of a mountain. Einzbern, Makiri and Tohsaka.

A mountain.

-The function of the Grail, originally, was to open a path to the Root.

White examined her form. It was honestly disturbing.

-I assume you know about its existance, don't you?

Akasha. Yes, she did know what it was. According to Church theory, it was the way that the nameless creator had used to keep his creation safe and true. Obsession of the mages in the Clocktower. Without a Root, the Second Hytoth would fade into the Voru's unreality.

-Very well. By summoning seven copies of Heroic Spirits from the Throne of Heroes, assigning them to a master, then forcing them to battle, the Grail would gather energy to do that. As a side effect, all that energy could be used to grant a wish.

Wish-granting artifact? Dangerous. Dan shifted the illusion around. Seven shadowy warriors battled.

-Two Holy Grail Wars occurred, and no Path was formed. No wish was granted.

Then, the image formed into a large chess game. Six unusual pieces- one with a sword, one with a horse, one with a bow, another with a spear, a fifth with a knife and a last one with a scepter, plus six common pawns, moved freely across the table.

-The Third Holy Grail War occurred in the middle of the seventh Occult one, in sync with the World War.

The Foundation's symbol appeared in the table.

-And the Foundation was chosen to be...

Dan laughed.

-An _impartial arbiter._

White nodded, and placed two new pieces on the table. A completely weapon-less piece representing a woman, and another pawn.

-Normally, seven masters summon seven servants. They battle, and the last one standing gets their wish. The Einzberns summoned some special servant which was supposed to give them the war, on a silver platter.

Then, several soldier pieces entered the game.

-Well, the Foundation didn't like that.

The soldier pieces killed the pawns, and the woman.

-They killed the Masters- and without said Masters, the Servants couldn't continue existing.

The chess game shattered.

-Then? The Foundation seized the Grail. The mages got furious, and nearly declared war.

Two organizations like this declaring war on each other would be a _disaster._ Dan continued, in a robotic and emotionless tone.

-But then the Bookburners came. The Association could only really try to attack when the Seventh Occult War was over, and by then, the recently formed GOC descended on the mages, with all of their resources, plus all of the legendary artifacts they had obtained from the War's aftermath.

-The mages defended themselves- they're quite strong. But the GOC had such massive resources and funding, as more then a hundred occult organizations had fused to form then, that they actually could deal damage, hell-bent as the GOC was in absorbing them into their "member organizations".

Both Dan and Whit eseemed to find this funny. A large clock tower in flames formed. Then, a Foundation site, similar to the one she had been imprisoned in, being built.

-The Foundation exploited that conflict and took control of the Grail. No one knows why they did that, but this year, they called for another War.

Dan revealed a mark in his hand.

-These marks show you are a Master. The Church of the Second Hytoth has a plan for this War. They hired me to fulfill it.

-What plan?

White opened the box she had revealed before. It contained a small spear tip- oh. It _radiated_ power.

-What is this?

White snickered.

-Well, I told you the Grail summons Heroic Spirits, doesn't it?

She nodded, again.

-Well, you can use a catalyst to... well, _specify_ the Servant you want to take. This is one.

A catalyst. Interesting.

-This spear tip, used to wound Rakmou-leusan thousands of years ago.

Her mind stopped for a second, to better comprehend what she had said. Her mind could not. Her body nearly unfolded itself, and she stared at the box with her non-existant eyeballs.

- _What._

White stood up, and Dan took a coin from his pocket, giving it to her. She pointed at the spear tip.

-Normally, I would not come here myself. We would send the box through... other methods. But this deal of ours is simply to important. The Church of the Second Hytoth wants to win this war, Allison.

She looked at her, and spoke in a cold tone.

-We made a deal. Your Church spent nearly all of its resources in it. Don't destroy them. You only have two gods left, don't you? Don't kill them. A dead customer is not a returning customer.

She placed the coin in her breast pocket, and left. Allison looked at the Serpent's Hand agent.

-I... don't know what you want me to do. This was confusing, to say the least.

He smirked.

-You'll know, Allison. You'll know.

She waited, and he explained. She understood.


	11. Awaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where fecal matter gets slightly more connected to the standard format of reality- or shit gets real, in layman's terms.

Tokiomi Tohsaka had a wish. He desired to reach the Root.

A long time ago, the same could be said of every one of the Founding Families. Not anymore.

They had distanced themselves from the true goal. There is no greater purpose than reaching Akasha. However, they had lost track of it to more worldly matters, and have now totally forgotten their original intention.

In Tokiomi's eyes, the Matou and Einzbern families had forgotten the true purpose of the Grail.

His family did not.

Unfortunately, there was an obstacle in his way to the Root, a powerful enemy that would not allow him to accomplish his purpose. The Foundation.

In the last war, they had stolen the Grail, and placed it in _containment._ Truly a waste.

Fortunately, they had opened the War again. He did not know why, but it had nonetheless happened, and he had been chosen as a Master.

He had gone to great lengths to obtain the strongest catalyst possible.

A Heroic Spirit's strength was based on its age. The most ancient of legends held the greatest powers.

By summoning the oldest of all Heroic Spirits as a Servant, the Grail War was effectively won.

However, even if his Servant was utterly unbeatable, the _Master_ was not. He was the weak link in the chain. And with the War allowing for the existance of Assassin servants, specialized in exploiting that one weakness, there would be a problem.

Therefore, were he to obtain Servant Assassin himself, while still controlling the original servant, he would be guaranteed to win this war.

Thus, he recruited Kirei Kotomine to assist him in this mission. The Global Occult Coalition had loaned him their agent, which had experience in combating entities such as Servants.

It had been hard to convince them to actually do this- they wanted to send one of their own families of magi into the War, but were unable to secure a truly powerful magus as a Master- and Kirei himself was not an optimal one.

However, they had settled for simply preventing the Grail from being used by an unworthy user, who would bring destruction to the world, and sent Kirei to help him, for a price.

After he had obtained his path to the Root, the Tohsaka family would enter the Coalition's ranks.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth to accept this bargain, but the Root was much more important. Rin would, were he to win, join their forces. They had promised to not send her into battle until she was an adult- but not much else.

Kirei would be a wonderful ally. He, at this moment, was performing complex maintenance procedures in his Heavy Suit.

It was an ugly and cumbersome thing, covered with runes, an horrible fusion of technology and magus expertise. However, according to the agent, it would give him enough combat ability to fight and even kill a Servant.

He doubted it initially, but then remembered the last War.

He knew that the Einzberns had attempted to summon a powerful Servant by bending the rules, and summoned a bizarre "Foreigner" one. It had very low stats, and had attempted to destroy the entire city before the Foundation intervened.

The Foundation, then, had sent their troopers, their Task Forces. Nearly every Master had been killed- the Edelfelt family had lost their heirs. Served them right. The Foundation's legendary Samsara troopers had challenged one of their twin Sabers- and won.

Technology was not to be underestimated, even if magecraft proved superior in almost every case.

He called Kirei. It was time for the his own summoning.

In six other locations, six Masters uttered the same words, with a few differences.

Six Masters looked at their magic circles, and begun to chant.

No mistakes must be made. In the underground workshop of this residence, Tokiomi Tohsaka spoke.

-Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Five perfections for each repetition. And now, let the filled sigils be annihilated in my stead!

Inside a locked room, in a hotel, Kayneth El-Melloi spoke.

-Ye first, O silver, O iron. O stone of the foundation, O Archduke of the Contract. Hear me in the name of our great teacher, the Archmagus Schweinorg.

In a hidden place no one but himself knew about, Blake Williams, former O5-8, spoke.

-Let thy body rest under my dominion, let my fate rest in thy blade.

Inside a summer home in an unimportant Japanese city, Dan Sonya spoke, as an origami vessel watched.

-If thou submitteth to the call of the Holy Grail, and if thou wilt obey this mind, this reason, then thou shalt respond.

In the distant frozen castle of the Einzberns, Kiritsugu Emiya spoke, his wife holding his hand.

-I make my oath here. I am that person who is to become the virtue of all Heaven. I am that person who is covered with the evil of all Hades.

In a manor of flesh and wood, with a Karcist watching him, Kariya Matou spoke, a strange tongue. A tongue not heard in the sunlit world for millennia.

And in a base, under the careful supervision of a hateful Overseer Four, the Commander of MTF Eta-2 spoke.

-Yet, thou serves with thine eyes clouded in chaos. Thou, bound in the cage of madness. I am he who commands those chains-

In the same residence of Tokiomi Tohsaka, in a not so distant past, Kirei Kotomine also spoke.

-Thou seven heavens, clad in a trinity of words, come past they restraining rings, and be thou the hands that protect the balance!

And in the end, at different times, in different places, they finished their chant.

And the circles shone with power.

And in these different places, in these different times, eight spirits awoke.

And Eight Spirits, fated to battle by the laws of the Grail, spoke.

Kiritsugu Emiya looked into the green eyes of a young woman in a battle dress. Saber.

Tokiomi Tohsaka looked into the red eyes of an golden-haired man in a shining, ancient armor. Archer.

Allison Kiluan and Dan Sonya knelt down in front of a four-armed warrior, whose body bled starlight. Lancer.

Kariya Matou and Karcist Lavalken knelt down in front a horned woman of unworldly beauty. Rider.

Blake offered his hand to a tanned man, with long, silvery hair. Caster.

Kirei Kotomine looked absentmindedly at the skull mask of the cloaked man. Assassin.

The Commander stared at the beast of a man in front of him, body covered in arcane tattoos. Berserker.

Kayneth El-Melloi stood before a plain woman, with a guitar in her back and the book in her hands. Foreigner.

They looked at their Masters, and uttered the same words.

-I ask of you. Are you my Master?

The Holy Grail War had begun.


	12. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where someone gets extremely annoyed at the shitty cup.

Yorun-leusan, also known as Lancer, was extremely annoyed.

This _really_ wasn't supposed to happen.

The Grail was going to pay for messing with him.

Not only he had been stripped from his godhood, and summoned in his old form as a mortal, but he had been forced into being a _Lancer._

The hero of the Spear.

Yes, yes, he used a staff to fight while he was a mortal, but he was the Holy Mage.

The Holy Mage should be _obviously_ summoned as a Caster!

Whoever was the miserable thief who stole his spot, he was going to pay. Pay!

Oh, who was he kidding? He was doomed.

No divinity, none of his true godly weapons... oh, how he missed his Six Staves.

At least he still had the Sun.

They had assisted him so much, hadn't it?

He had slain many Voruteut through the blessings of the stars. They were beautiful things, old and powerful. He had spoke to the stars before, in the days of old.

In the First Hytoth.

Even if he possessed all of the memories of the Holy Mage, he wasn't him. He was not Yorun-leusan, Holy Sixth. He was merely _Yorun,_ the mortal hero, who would eventually ascend to become this mage.

The memories of his mortal life, were the most proeminent. They were the strongest.

What could be the cause of his erroneous summon? He wasn't the great librarian and mage, seeker of all knowledge. He was the mere man.

A flower yet to fully blossom. An imperfect lily, which had not truly attained its final beauty. A child.

He was a hero of the First Hytoth, of that immense bed of chaos, that place. The humans of the First Hytoth did not know of the madness that that place was. Gazing into the sky, Lancer smiled.

-What a beautiful sky.

The sun's light touched his resplandescent face. It was strange, indeed. He was absolutely sure he did not shine in his mortal life. Neither did he have four arms.

Fascinating. Perhaps some aspect of his legend, influencing the summon?

His faithful priestess sat in a chair. She did not have eyes, but he knew that Allison Kiluan gazed upon his form, filled with awe. She had sacrificed much for him.

He would help her in attaining a better body, later. It was imperfect- a facsimile of ancient rituals. In the days of old, their disciples would create vessels much like this one.

However, the body was imperfect. It was obvious. It had been made using mundane materials, probably thanks to financial constraints, and the energies chaining her soul to this form were also not nearly as strong as they should be.

If her body was sufficiently damaged, she would die. A true vessel would allow for the consciousness to survive, as long as a single shred of the paper was left.

She had, according to her testimony, created the ritual.

Reinvented it. A lost ritual, of such incredible complexity, completely recreated by a priestess who did not know of its existance!

There was some decay in her memories, and the transfer of blood to his warrior brother was flawed. It reached a mere 10% efficiency. It was truly impressive that Rakmou was still alive, if this was the most efficient transfer they could manage.

How much blood was the Church losing every year? It showed how strong mankind was.

She looked anxious. Completely understandable. She was looking at her god. One thought dead.

-Child.

She nearly fell off her chair. He smiled kindly at her.

-Yes, Holy Sixth?

He performed a dismissive gesture with one of his hands.

-Do not call me that, child. I am not a Koru-teusa...

He stopped a bit to think. Was he?

-Yet. You did not summon a god. You summoned me, while I was still mortal.

The other mage was still staring at the circle. He was supplying his energy, and was seemingly the original Master. However, the Command Seals had been transferred to the "back" of the priestess' form.

It was interesting. These Seals were a fascinating form of thaumaturgy which he definitely wished to study. Later, obviously.

The mage was still staring blankly at the circle. He wasn't moving. In fact...

Had he blinked since he had been summoned?

Walking towards him, Yorun tapped him in the shoulder. He didn't budge. The poor man was in shock.

-Hello. Are you disappointed with your summon, former Master?

No response. It seemed that he would have to resort to drastic measures. Forming a small spark of lightning in the fingers of his... second left hand, he touched the mage in the neck.

He twitched, and blinked.

-Uhhh...

Then, Yorun looked into his eyes.

-Hello there.

The man's face distorted into a vision of horror. He knelt and placed his hands in the ground.

-I am truly sorry, your Holiness. I disrespected you. _Please don't kill me.._

He sighed. He did expect this.

-Do not worry, former Master. You do not need to call me that.

He gave another kind smile. That always worked.

-Just call me Lancer.

The man nodded hurriedly. Summoning his staff into his hands, Yorun grabbed his arm.

-Now, let us discuss tactics.

As the three left the small room to begin their preparations, mystical energy concetrated in a dark corner, somewhere far away, and a being awoke.

A woman blinked. She looked around.

There wasn't anyone else in there.

Who had summoned her?

She clutched her head. There... hadn't been any transmissions. There were supposed to be transmissions.

The Grail is supposed to give information. There couldn't be a Holy Grail War if none of the participants knew anything from the era they were summoned in. This was... peculiar.

She did not know her Class or her Parameters. At least, she knew what was happening. She understood the idea of a Grail War, but the rest was a mystery.

She felt her Noble Phantasms inside of her self, but... she did not know their names.

Something, somewhere, had went terribly wrong. Breathing heavily, she left the street and tried to obtain some clue of what era had she been summoned into-

Oh no.

She realized now. She didn't know her name.

She looked at her own hands. They were both covered in strangle symbols. She was sure she never had any tattoos.

What was happening to her?

As the woman tried to make some sense of her situation, the same happened, somewhere else.

Another being, a different one, formed inside a summoning circle.

Uryuu Ryuunosuke was the first thing it saw after its summoning.

It gazed at the floor, and saw a restrained infant.

Most likely, it was supposed to be used as fuel for its summoning. Intelligent. Providing a bribe to your Servant was traditional.

Was it? It did not know, but it assumed it was. Bribes were good and helped lessen your debt.

Its summoner- no, Master, cleared his throat.

-Uh, name's Uryū Ryūnosuke. I'm a freelancer. My hobby is murder in general. I like kids and young women. Recently I'm back to sharpening my basis again.

Optimal. Infantile organisms were excellent targets. It did not understand its Master's favor for members of the female gender. Possible desire to reduce population by culling reproductors?

It made a note to ask later.

The being bowed, coming closer to the infantile organism. Its maws opened, and it bit into its skull, killing it.

No, actually not. It seemed to be still alive?

The damage to its skull had apparently caused considerable pain, and causing it to produce some sort of... sound. A high-pitched sound that did not seem to convey any meaning.

Oh, it was a scream! How silly of him to forget that. It was honestly funny.

It bit again into the infant's skull, this time succeding in killing it. Before dying, it screamed again, this time louder, in a higher pitch. The being felt satisfied. The remain could be later retrieved for raw materials. The being looked at its Master, and spoke.

-Are you my Master?

He shrugged. This was clearly a confirmation. The being shrugged back.

-Very well. Do you want to seek more targets?

The man's smile told the being he had gotten an _excellent_ Master.


	13. Cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we get a bit of lore.

The Holy Grail War, originally, had been a mere competition between magi. Aside from the occasional rogue, all participants were practitioners of magecraft.

However, this had changed.

When the Foundation seized the Grail from the founding families, breaking the Lesser Grail and rendering the ritual meaningless, during the Third Holy Grail War, the Mage's Association suffered a loss.

Not in personnel or research, or monetary resources. The loss had been in reputation.

Suddenly, the feared Mage's Association became slightly less feared. The Foundation had not only stolen an incredibly valuable artifact from them, but had betrayed their trust, abandoning their position of a neutral referee.

This would, normally, be a non-concern. Simply taking the Grail back would solve this issue easily. However, the Grail's loss was followed by an important point of the Seventh Occult War.

The existance of the Rite of Solomon was revealed, and the Association, to put it simply, went into a state of panic.

The Rite of Solomon would allow the Nazi regimen to change the principles of magecraft, permanently. To an organization whose sole focus was the research and understanding of said principles, that meant the loss of all of their research.

To the magi, this was a death sentence. All of their life's work, the work of their whole families, who had sacrificed themselves to gain more and more knowledge of magecraft, their purpose.

Shortly after that, the Foundation discovered the true goal of Obskurakorps- to destroy all thaumaturgy not in the hands of the Aryan master race.

All gone, forever. The magecraft of thousands of families, gone in an instant. To the Association, for whom magecraft meant everything, this was a reason to go to war.

With their life's work on the line, the Association went to war.

The organizations which would become the Global Occult Coalition, the Church of the Broken God, the precursors of the Serpent's Hand and the Foundation gladly accepted the newcomers to this war.

However, the idea of removing magecraft from all "impures" appealed to some members of the Association, who betrayed their masters, joining the forces of the Nazi Obskurakorps.

This schism led to the loss of many invaluable studies, families and Mystic Codes.

However, they did not falter, and threw themselves into this bloody war.

At the end of this bloody war, the Association won and lost at the same time.

They won because the Solomon Rite was not completed. They lost, because the war paid them practically nothing.

They had sacrificed hundreds of irreplaceable Mystic Codes, had lost many, many families to the war, and had been denied any kind of reward.

The Foundation took all of the Korps' magical research, strengthening their Magecraft and Alchemy departments so much, that they became pratically factions by themselves.

Most of them families who sided with Nazi Germany never returned to the Association, as they had died.

The components of the Rite of Solomon, the Seven Keys of Solomon, were seized by the newborn Occult Coalition.

Said Coalition proceeded to subsume 108 occult organizations around the world, one of them being the Universalist Order of the Æsir, which contained some of the greatest runemasters in the world.

The Association was horrified.

The Coalition procceded to top that by razing the Temple of Atlas to the ground, capturing over 90% of their magi. It was absolutely impossible.

Such a young organization could never harm, nevermind destroy Atlas.

But it nevertheless happened, and to this day, no one knows how they did that. The most popular theory is some sort of superweapon- likely obtained from one

The Foundation, as always, sat in the background, unknown, grabbing refugees and fragments of the ruins for their own purposes.

With the truly massive amount of magical research obtained from them, the Coalition moved to the next step- to seize the Clocktower. Fortunately for the Association, they failed.

The Clocktower was not as discrete as the Atlas Institute, and the Coalition still desired to mantain the Veil. Thus, this operation had to be realized in secrecy.

And their forces could not both destroy the Clocktower and mantain the Veil. However, the damage they caused was enough to cause an exodus.

Many magi attempted to flee from the Association, and joined other organizations. The Wandering Sea, the Foundation. Some joined the very Coalition, and some found solace in the arms of the Church of the Second Hytoth.

Suddenly, the Association realized the situation was truly horrible for them. They could not afford to waste resources, damaged as they were. Thus, they dropped many frivolous expenses.

Including the Grail. They could not afford to spark another Occult War in their situation, over a glorified Wishcraft engine.

And the Foundation was overjoyed.

The Einzberns were furious.

They swore to obtain the Grail once more, and with it, their Magic. They swore to obtain their revenge in the Overseer that had, according to their sources, signed the order to seize the Grail, the Overseer that would have destroyed it, were it not for the others' interference.

Their hated foe that hated equally them in return.

Overseer Eight.

Said hated foe, at this moment, walked out an airport, dressed in garish, brightly-colored beach clothing.

-Hey, Caster!

Said Caster, who was dressed in equally ridiculous clothing, looked at him.

-Yes?

Blake smiled at him.

-Aren't you nervous?

Caster tilted his head oddly, confused.

-Why would I be nervous?

Blake tapped him in the shoulder, then laughed.

-This is your debut, my friend! They haven't seen you in... what? Three thousand years?

Caster looked at the sky.

-2925 years. My death happened around 931 before Christ. Indeed, they haven't seen me in a long time.

The grin in Blake's face would be horrifying to a normal man.

-Well, then we should plan a party for you, shouldn't we? A "welcome to life" party?

Caster stared at his eyes. Blake stared back, harder. They continued their staring contest for a few minutes. Eventually, Caster nodded.

-Then let's buy you something, your Majesty!

Grinning even more, Blake took a bundle of hundred dollar bills out of his pocket, then ran away, gesturing for Caster to follow him.

This war, even if he lost, would at least be amusing, wouldn't it?


	14. Bloodshed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where something that looks like an Interlude happens, but definitely isn't one, because there's more then one format.

_Operation "Protestant Calvinism" was a highly confidential mission involved with the specifics of procedure ABGRUND. Among those involved in this operation were MTF Eta-2 "Last Supper" Commander [DATA EXPUNGED] and a copy of SCP-076-2 generated through SCP-2491. Said copy was designated as Berserker-076-2, or simply Berserker._

_The purpose of this mission was to create bonds between Berserker-076-2 and Commander [DATA EXPUNGED] through combat. This would be accomplished through the Neutralization of a minor anomaly, deemed expendable. The O5 Council determined that the destruction of this anomaly was a necessary sacrifice in order to further the completion of procedure ABGRUND, required for the containment of SCP-2491._

_The chosen anomaly was a member of the human variant species designated as "Dead Apostles" located in France. The target was designated as DA-1._

_Commander [DATA EXPUNGED] was granted six (6) mass-produced Command Seal copies._

_Operation "Protestant Calvinism" was deemed a failure, as no positive bonds were formed. As the Commander was not informed of this objective beforehand, there was no punishment._

_The following log was recorded by a member of Eta-2._

[BEGIN LOG]

**Commander:** Berserker! Go kill the vampire.

**Berserker:** Yes, I will.

_Berserker jumps, breaking a window and falling through it. Commander points at four troopers._

**Commander:** Berserker is going to the upper floors. Follow me, you four. The rest of you, deal with the ghouls.

_Team nods and opens fire on the reanimated entities. Commander enters the building._

**E-4:** Big ghoul there!

_Enhanced entity enters the hallway, and roars._

**Commander:** Just shoot it!

_Enhanced entity is quickly taken down by the troopers._

**Commander:** They're weak. We just need to go upstairs.

_Team moves through the area, ignoring the lesser entities._

**Commander:** These ones are weak. Just kill them, and we can get out of here already.

_Team finds set of stairs._

**Commander:** Let's go.

_Team runs through the stairs, and find a set of steel doors._

**Commander:** I swear to god, if that fucker didn't kill the Apostle already...

_Eta-2 member kicks open door. Berserker is fighting target DA-1 with his weapons. DA-1 is producing thaumic energy projectiles, which are fired at Berserker._

**Commander:** Berserker! What the fuck are you doing?

**Berserker:** _Fighting!_

**Commander:** Fuck it! We came here to kill that vampire, and you're toying with him? _Kill him!_

_Commander activates one of her mass-produced Command Seal copies. Berserker's tattoos flash, and he jumps towards DA-1, decapitating it._

**Berserker:** There. Are you satisfied, _Master?_

**Commander:** Yes. I am. Now, the mission is complete. Let's go.

**Berserker:** I once wished to kill you.

_Berserker turns towards Commander._

**Commander:** And you don't do anymore?

_Berserker laughs._

**Berserker:** No, I don't want to kill you. I want you dead. There's a difference.

_Berserker picks up DA-1's corpse._

**Berserker:** You see, this man would have been a great Master. He understood. The sensations, I mean.

**Commander:** What sensations?

**Berserker:** I'm a bit more "sane", now. It's really interesting, you see. When I become a Berserker, I get... less "mad", as you like to call me. It's not actually that. My supposed "madness" just manifests differently.

_Berserker throws corpse towards one of the Eta-2 troopers._

**Berserker:** I can appreciate it better now, you see. The sensations. Hearing the sound of your blade, cutting through the ai, then through flesh. Stepping in the ground, after you spilled so much blood it feels like mud. You don't feel that.

_Berserker spits on the Commander._

**Berserker:** You're worthless. You fight every day, and you don't feel the sensations. You deny them. Then you go back home and do nothing. You feel nothing. You aren't a challenge. That man, he defied death. I know what happens to beings like him. But he kept fighting, until his last breath. Did you know, that if I wasn't a _Servant,_ he would have ripped my heart out of my chest?

_Berserker forms a blade, then points at the Commander._

**Berserker:** He died an undignified death, thanks to you. I cannot possibly describe how much I want you dead right now, but you are not worthy of dying by my hand. You are that kind of pathetic warrior, a fake warrior. You don't deserve a worthy death. I may not slay you through my blade, but you will die.

_Berserker walks out of the room._

[END LOG]

_The mission failed. Commander [DATA EXPUNGED] was reprimanded for her use of the mass-produced Command Seal copies. Proposal of giving the role of Master of Berserker to another more compatible agent is examined._

_In the next day, Commander [DATA EXPUNGED] was found dead in his bed. The cause of death appeared to be a broken skull. Berserker is being currently mantained through the use of a thaumic stabilizer._

_A new Master is required._

**From:** Dr. Ao Miyama

 **To:** Site Director Marisbury Animusphere

 **Re:** Procedure ABGRUND

Marisbury, we got a problem.

You see, since we chose you to be in charge of SCP-2491 (which I never actually understood), you've been nothing but an exemplar employee. Perfect. Like, completely perfect.

So...

Well, you aren't supposed to interfere in the war until the last part of Procedure ABGRUND.

But the Council, well, decided to give you a more active role in it.

That's right, you're going to be a Master!

The previous one is dead. They fell down some stairs.

Yeah!

Aaaand you got a promotion!

Your paycheck got a _lot_ of extra zeros in it!

You're happy, aren't you. I'm sure you are.

These are the good news.

And... the bad news? Well...

The Servant is Able. SCP-076-2. You know who. As a Berserker.

We chose you, well, because you're one of the few guys who actually has the power and skill to survive that role, plus your... weird mindset.

Who knows, Able might like it!

And you're still not likely to live through it.

Don't worry, everything is going to be alright!

I'm sure of it!

Stay fine, Marisbury!

-Miyama

P.S: Please don't die.

**From:** Site Director Marisbury Animusphere

 **To:** Dr. Ao Miyama

 **Re:** Procedure ABGRUND

I accept this invitation. I will be the Master of Berserker. However. Who will replace me as the director of my site?

I cannot leave it leaderless.

-Marisbury

P.S: I will not die, Miyama.

**From:** Dr. Ao Miyama

 **To:** Site Director Marisbury Animusphere

 **Re:** Procedure ABGRUND

OH THANK GOD, I WAS SO WORRIED! NOW, I KNOW YOU ARE 100% SAFE! 100%, MARISBURY. 100%. If you didn't get it before, this is sarcasm.

Seriously, don't die. And your replacement is some guy called Bright. You probably know who he is, but I don't. I don't keep track of the staff gossip.

Anyway, the Council has already received word of your acceptance. You start tomorrow. Eta-2 is taking Able to you.

-Miyama.

**From:** Site Director Marisbury Animusphere

 **To:** Dr. Ao Miyama

 **Re:** Procedure ABGRUND

Very well.

-Marisbury

**From:** Dr. Ao Miyama

 **To:** Site Director Marisbury Animusphere

 **Re:** Procedure ABGRUND

You don't need to send me an email with a single line to tell me it's okay. Just message me.

-Miyama

**From:** Site Director Marisbury Animusphere

 **To:** Dr. Ao Miyama

 **Re:** Procedure ABGRUND

I do not know how.

-Marisbury

**From:** Dr. Ao Miyama

 **To:** Site Director Marisbury Animusphere

 **Re:** Procedure ABGRUND

Oh, come on, you magi are so hopeless with tech. Just ask the technicians.

-Miyama

**From:** Site Director Marisbury Animusphere

 **To:** Dr. Ao Miyama

 **Re:** Procedure ABGRUND

Very well.

-Marisbury


	15. Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where it lives, and a youngling gets his attempts to define his own gender identity interrupted.

This room was extremely disturbing, thought Kariya Matou.  
  
Differently from the Matou manor's fleshy rooms, it hadn't been redecorated with flesh by a rather talented Karcist.  
  
It had been made from the insides of a creature.  
  
In fact, it _was_ the insides of a creature- a still living one.  
  
A massive creature, the size of a house. One that Rider had _somehow_ hid inside of the river.  
  
How had the Foundation not detected them yet!?  
  
Rider and Lavalken were happily chatting in the other side of the room in their strange cancer chairs.  
  
They were literally made of cancers. How did one make a chair out of cancers? Why would anyone even do that?  
  
Rider gestured for him to come closer.  
  
He nodded and walked towards them. Then he sat in one of these chairs. It wriggled. It was disgusting, but he had seen worse. Rider giggled and came uncomfortably close to him  
  
-Master.  
  
He looked at her purplish eyes.  
  
-Yes?  
  
She laughed, and licked his cheek with her long, mutant tongue. She sat back in her chair, and made a strange gesture. One of the walls of flesh shifted, to reveal a map. A map of Fuyuki City, drawn entirely on skin.  
  
-Let's talk, shall we?  
  
She pointed towards the river, and a small red dot formed in one point.  
  
-This is us.  
  
Two other red dots formed in other points of the city. The Tohsaka residence and another, random point.  
  
-According to my scouts, three servants have been summoned already.  
  
A small insect burst from the skin in her left arm. It flew around a bit, until it collapsed.  
  
-I made them with... a very special capacity, you see. The capacity to sense magical beings.  
  
The map shifted. Now, it was a drawing. A man in golden armor.  
  
-This is one of the Servants, the only one I actually saw. I do not know who he is.  
  
This man... no, he never saw him before.  
  
-I don't know what hero it could be, Rider.  
  
She sighed.  
  
-So we know nothing.  
  
She stood up, and with another gesture, dissolved the map.  
  
-We will need to prepare, Master. Lavalken strengthened you, didn't he?  
  
He nodded. Rider's mouth distorted into a truly frightening smile.  
  
-Well, I suppose we'll just have to go beyond that. No offense to you, Lavalken...  
  
She touched his arm, which became visibly distorted.  
  
-But when it comes to fleshcraft, no one can surpass us.  
  
Kariya was afraid.  
  
-Now, Master, let us begin your new training.  
  
Somewhere else, Zouken Matou felt oddly innapropriate. He sneered. It was not the time for this.  
  
And in another place, an insect waited.  
  
It was one of Rider's children, and felt very proud of that fact.  
  
It was incredibly smart for an insect, and it had a duty. Said duty had been given to him by his mother. It was going to fulfill her expectations, or die trying. He owed nothing less for the one who had brought him to life.  
  
It had sat in this corner, watching the Tohsakas for a whole day. The insect hads already made his mother proud. It had found a man! He _radiated_ power, the golden one. He had spoke to his mother about the man, and she said she was proud!  
  
She had even given it a name! Jaka. It was Jaka.  
  
It felt very proud of himself when she gave him a name. It was a true honor.  
  
If he had a name... could he have a different pronoun as well? "it" felt stale. "He" or "She" were better. Mother and her friends used these... could it use them too? No, no, no. That was not something for him to decide. If he pleased his mother, she would decide if he would get a gender-  
  
No, no, not he! He wasn't a "he". He was an "it". Jaka twitched and went back to his vigilance.  
  
The lord of the ugly house he was watching- all dead matter, ugh- had been using, lately, some low-grade beasts to patrol left and right, day and night around their lands. Pathetic. These dumb "familiars" could never match it.  
  
The ugly residence was covered in Bounded Fields. It could bypass some of them, one or two, thanks to its mother's gifts, but she had not given it enough to escape them all. He... it, at the moment, sat in a corner, completely unnoticed, watching the golden man sitting in the roof, with its enhanced senses.  
  
The golden man stood up. Oh no. Had it been noticed?  
  
No, it had not? The man hadn't attacked it or even looked in its direction.  
  
A golden portal formed over the golden man, and shot a large, shining spear at something. It pierced a hand... it was sure that dark magical man wasn't there before! Had it not noticed? Mother would hate him for this mistake!  
  
The dark magical man looked shocked. Had the dark magical man not been there before, and the spear had created him? It was the only explanation! The magical man could have never evaded its senses!  
  
-... h!?  
  
The dark man was shocked. Weird. It had not been shocked when it was born. It was happy. The man should be happy that the spear had created him.  
  
The golden man was shining. He looked angry. The dark magical man was also angry, but less.  
  
-You worm crawling on the ground, whose pardon do you seek?  
  
The golden man asked indifferently to the dark man on the ground, looking down at him with a pair of disdainful, red eyes. These eyes were evil, not kind and pretty like his mother's eyes. The dark magical man gurgled.  
  
-You can't look at me. Worms can only look at the ground when they die, like the worms they are.  
  
Around the golden man, even more glowing circles appeared, until there was a lot of them. Suddenly sliding out of mid-air were a lot of different, shining pointy weapons. Jaka had a sharp pointy weapon in his talon, but it wasn't as shiny or as pretty. All of them were aimed at the skull-face dark man.  
  
The golden shiney man was angry at him?  
  
The flying weapons were all thrown at the dark shadowy man, and they pierced his dark clothes. In a few seconds, the dark man wasn't there anymore. It had to speak to Mother!  
  
Jaka quickly sent all of his memories to its mother. Now she would know. Would she favor it more? Then, he heard a sound. The golden man sneered, and looked directly at Jaka. Jaka twitched. The shiny weapons changed course, and flew at him. He attempted to dodge, but failed.  
  
As a long spear pierced his entrails, Jaka's last thoughts were of his mother, and that she hadn't spoke to him about his discovery. He hoped she would be safe.  
  
Somewhere else, A shadow formed in front of Kirei Kotomine. The white skull mask, the robes, all of them were rebuilt. The ghost stared at the Coalition agant, and nodded.  
  
-The mission is complete. I will now speak to my brethen.  
  
Kirei nodded. Assassin vanished, leaving him alone. The Heavy Suit pilot stood from his chair, and opened the curtains. This war was rather interesting, wasn't it? He shook his head, and turned the television on. He had an appointment.


	16. Fifth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where a Foreigner disrespects Foreigner qualifications.

_A light that died is shining in the water._

Kayneth blinked.

What were these foolish thoughts he had been thinking? Recently, they had become more frequent. They could cause problems in the Grail War. He needed to control himself, or he would never win.

Winning the War, and obtaining his wish. He had spent the last of his savings to get that book. For the past year, he had been living in the streets. He effectively had nothing. No, he still had Volumen Hydragenum.

He looked at the vial of mercury. It was his sole Mystic Code. The only Mystic Code that he possessed since he had been sacked. It was all he had left.

But he still had hope. He could prove himself. He could recover the Grail, and maybe return to the Association. They would accept him once more and he would go back. Maybe they would forgive his horrible crime.

No.

They wouldn't. They wouldn't accept him back. They couldn't.

_It's hard to tell whether the apple is whole, cut, ripe, or rotted out._

What? 

What was he thinking? Kayneth rested his face in his hands. Maybe he should go to sleep. He was having hallucinations of some sort. He hadn't slept in three days, this was obviously affecting him.

Foreigner- was that even a real class? She was... strange. She didn't seem to want the Grail. Instead, she spent her time singing her strange songs. She didn't want to discuss tactics. 

She didn't want to discuss anything. She just kept trying to convert him to her insane religion. She ranted and raved about stars, aligning and wishful thinking. It was nothing useful. It was no magecraft. 

It was Fifthist madness.

Vier had warned him about Fifthist madness. 

He sighed. It was pointless, really. She wouldn't convert him and he couldn't make her stop. He could use a Command Seal, but it would be a waste of useful tools.

_Subject appears to have been flung apart._

Kayneth breathed heavily. These hallucinations had been growing stronger recently, since he had... when had they begun?

They had begun when he touched that book. Was it cursed?

_no it isn't_

It wasn't. It wasn't. Definitely wasn't.

He sighed. He should go to sleep. He needed it.

_If you feel yourself developing a soul, go outside immediately and follow the direction of the smoke until you meet them._

He clutched his head. These damned migraines. Foreigner was there. Looking at him.

-Hello.

He looked at her eyes. They were entrancing- wait. Were they _M_ _ystic Eyes!?_

-Don't look at me, Foreigner.

She tilted her head in a horrifying way. It looked like she was breaking her own neck to do that. What kind of distorted Servant had he summoned!? She sat next to him.

Kayneth was losing his patience. He hadn't asked to summon this woman.

-Who are you?

What? She didn't remember who he was? He had told her when he had summoned him.

-I am Kayneth El-Melloi, Foreigner, and-

She shook her head. 

-No, no, not this. Always listen for the sound slon of trwoll plr mlgn thei.

Kayneth was tired. Why couldn't he have summoned a decent Servant, instead of an _incomprehensible madwoman?_ He stood up and walked away. The Servant tried to stand up as well, but he gestured for her to stop. 

-Stay here. Don't follow me.

He needed to take a walk. Clear his head. Alone. It would be better that way. 

He left the cheap house he had rented for this War, and clutched his head once more. The migraines were only getting worse. He twitched. He was in terrible condition. 

_If you wish to know, you must look deeper._

Kayneth walked through the streets, trying to breathe. He felt like he was suffocating. The anxiety was crushing. The despair was crushing. He hated them. 

Damn them. Damn all of them.

He had been doing this for years, trying to get their approval, and he got nothing in return-

No, no, no. He needed to stop. He was going mad. Something was wrong. No, nothing was wrong. He just needed to rest. He breathed deeply. He was not well. He was hallucinating and he was in pain. He had not slept for a long time. 

He just needed a drink, then he would go to sleep.

He took his wallet out of his pocket. This would probably be enough. He didn't have a lot of money left, but he needed this. He looked around, for a bar, or a market, or any place where he could drink something. Then he could calm down.

He noticed a small bar. Perfect. A few seconds later, he walked out of the bar with a bottle of-

_Mirrors are for other people._

Wait.

He had not bought anything.

Kayneth had blacked out. He didn't remember buying anything. He looked at his wallet. It was all there. All there. He hadn't spend a single cent and-

_Still ringing._

He was in another section of the street.

He was blacking out. There was something wrong with him. Very wrong. He looked at Foreigner and-

_They've been breaking in. They've been playing the game._

Why was Foreigner here? He had told her to stay in the house, and... oh no.

He was still in the house.

He closed his eyes. He just needed to go to sleep. It would be well. 

Everything was going to be alright.

Kayneth El-Melloi went to sleep in his chair. He was tired. This had been a long week. He just wanted to go to sleep. He didn't care about the stars or the Grail for now. He just wanted to sleep.

And he slept.

Foreigner looked at her sleeping Master, and sneered.

-He did not want for the stars to align.

She looked at the window. It was clear day. She spat on the window. The day told the stars they weren't real. It forgot about the smoke and the stars.

She hated it. Her Master had slept in the wrong format. He should sleep better.

Foreigner stood up, disgusted. She looked one more time at her Master, and walked out of the building.

She would make things right.

Foreigner looked at the room's fifth wall from the outside. She stared at it with all of her strength. 

_THE COSMIC STARFISH is all that remains._

Kayneth opened his eyes.

Smoke emanated out of his mouth.

Something was terribly wrong. 


	17. Weapon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where stuff begins to happen.

A Servant and a homunculus walked through the streets of Fuyuki City.

Irisviel was smiling, a dreamy look in her face. Saber was rigid. This new world was interesting, and the world she once lived in was now in a distant past. However, no new emotions came from this sight, as her vigilance did not allow for them. 

They could be attacked at any second.

Irisviel noticed her tension, and touched her hand.

-Saber.

Said Servant turned her head at the homunculus. 

-What?

She pointed at the city with her other hand.

-Would you like to look around the town? It could be fun.

Saber could not accept such a proposal. She shook her head, a stern look in her face.

-No, Master. We cannot. We are in enemy territory. The War has already started, and as such, we cannot afford to simply wander. We could be attacked by an enemy Servant at any second.

Irisviel tilted her head.

-Well, I can't fight a Servant on my own. 

She turned around and walked towards the direction she had pointed at.

-Let's have a look over there. You can detect Servants, you'll see them coming.

Saber sighed and followed her.

Saber could not dematerialize, thanks to unique circumstances of her summon. As such, she could not simply scout an area in spirit form, as a Servant normally would. Thus, she had to walk around and search for enemies normally.

-Irisviel. The Einzberns have prepared a base, haven't them? Near the town?

Irisviel shook her head sadly.

-Yes. There's a Foundation Site near us, so we bought a house. Grandfather had wished to use a castle instead, but it wouldn't be discreet. The Foundation would catch us.

The SCP Foundation. An organization dedicated to keeping the world safe from magical threats. They stood at the top of this world's occult hierarchy, followed shortly be the Global Occult Coalition.

According to her Master, the Foundation placed anything "anomalous" they could get their hands on in "containment" and studied them. They were willing to do anything to protect the world. They were a powerful organization, one that Saber did not wish to anger.

The Coalition was no different- an immensely powerful organization, that instead of containing and studying the supernatural, it destroyed it. Another possible enemy. These two mantained the illusion of "normalcy" in this world.

They would likely not be happy at the Einzberns constructing a castle right next to one of their own bases.

-We should reunite with Kiritsugu and think of a plan, Irisviel. Why do you wish to visit the town so much?

Irisviel started to mumble, and looked her in the eyes.

-Did you know this is only the third time I've been outside, Saber?

The Servant blinked. Third time? 

-I have only left the castle two times, plus this one. 

Saber looked at her Master's wife. Only three times in her entire life? 

-Then ever since you were born... when did you leave?

Irisviel smiled again.

-Father told me I was a weapon. A weapon for the Heaven's Feel. I only left it to become a greater weapon. 

Three times... she could not fathom how such a life would be. She had _felt_ imprisoned as a King, but she had never been literally trapped in a castle for her entire life. Irisviel looked at her hands.

-When the Grail's vessel, which was a cup, was destroyed in the last War, they had thought of making me. A mobile vessel for the Lesser Grail, for the heroes' souls.

She pointed towards the mountain in the distance. The Foundation's site was hidden in there, according to Kiritsugu.

-But, well, when they lost the Grail, they couldn't do that anymore. So they made a weapon instead. A special homunculus. Made to help their Master, so they could win the War. They only took me out of the castle two times.

Irisviel lifted a finger.

-The first time we left, we visited a priest, to get me some implants. They were added to... help me with my functions.

She lifted another finger.

-The second one was to meet Kiritsugu. 

She looked at the sky. It was late. The sun was already setting. Only three times?

-Of course, It's not like I don't know anything, right? The maids taught me about the world. About the anomalous community. 

Smiling sadly, Irisviel looked at the roads, cluttered with cars. 

-There's a whole hidden world behind this one, Saber. Like Three Portlands. I met Kiritsugu there.

Saber looked at her red eyes. 

-It's a beautiful place. I hope that I'll see it again.

Saber nodded and smiled back to her. She decided to speak as well.

-This is my first time in this town. 

Saber breathed deeply, and then offered her hand to Irisviel. 

-But I am a knight. Escort is one of our duties. And I will escort you as best as I can. Maybe, you can one day return to this... Three Portlands city.

Her eyes lit, the sadness gone. Irisviel placed her arm around Saber's elbow. It was night. 

-Do you want to see the beach, Saber? I'll tell you about Three Portlands in the way.

She nodded. It wouldn't do any harm to see the beach, would it? And she was curious about this city. This era's occultists had built cities for themselves. Irisviel pulled her along, and they walked towards the beach.

Later, under the moonlight, they were strolling on a lone walkway with nobody around. The cold wind played with Irisviel's hair. Saber looked at the dark sea, and spoke to the homunculus, apologetically. 

-We should have come here when it wasn't dark.

But Irisviel didn't seem to care, staring at it.

-It's fine. Don't worry, Saber. It's beautiful at night, too.

The city... it was interesting. Three Portlands. Two cities in the United States, and an island in Britain, united through an incredible work of magecraft. Irisviel's descriptions were long and cheerful, and she seemed happier with the mere thought of this city.

Three Portlands indeed looked like a beautiful place.

Suddenly, Saber felt a presence, a sensation in the back of her mind. An enemy Servant was nearby.

She readied her invisible sword. Irisviel's eyes widened. She had likely already realized what was happening. She concentrated, and attempted to discern her enemy's location. She felt a presence-

The Servant was coming closer. It was moving in her direction, at incredible speeds. She looked in the area around, but saw nothing. No, this wasn't true. She had seen a mere blur in the corner of her vision- _a blur?_ Widening her eyes, Saber quickly moved out of the way.

The Servant's blade moved past her, slicing the space were her head had been a mere second ago. Saber clenched her teeth. The battle had started.


	18. Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where stuff happens.

Saber clenched her teeth. The enemy Servant had been a challenge to battle.

He attacked furiously fast, and was apparently attempting to kill Irisviel, not her. As such, she had to stay in the defensive. She could not discern her enemy's identity for now. He was most definitely not a Lancer or an Archer. His mastery of the blade showed otherwise.

She struck again with her invisible sword, managing to cut his palm. The Servant's dark sword vanished the second it left his grasp.

He laughed, and pulled another of his black blades through a hole in space. He pointed it towards her.

-A glorious fight, Servant of the Sword. Tell me your name, so I may honor you after your death.

She struck again with her blade, this time nearly managing to cut his chest before he dodged.

-You know, I would have fought you in a true duel, were it not for my Master.

He pointed backwards. She could see _someone_ in the shadows. His Master. So the Servant revealed his own Master's position so easily? The Servant sneered.

-He used one of his _Command Seals_ to force me to kill your Master. I did not choose this.

His eyes... they were the eyes of a killer. These were not the eyes of a man. These eyes were filled with the desire to kill, and nothing else. This Servant was mad. Wait. Mad. This Servant was mad.

-You are Berserker, aren't you?

He laughed again, and nodded enthusiastically, with a bloodthirsty smile in his face.

-Indeed. My... "Mad Enhancement" is not activated, but I am Berserker nonetheless.

Mad Enhancement was _not_ activated? Was Berserker mad like this, even without the curse? What kind of hero was he? What hero would carry such madness, in his whole legend?

-You are Berserker. Your eyes reveal madness. Yet, your most powerful Skill is not activated?

Berserker smiled, and twirled his blade.

-Being a true Berserker would rob me of my tactical prowess. I do not desire that.

She understood. There was a difference between mere bloodlust and true, berserker rage.

-Then I will fight you at your fullest, with your mind clear.

Berserker's eyes gleamed, and he opened his arms.

-Indeed, Saber. Come!

She attacked. They kept fighting a bit more, slashing and striking at each other, dodging, parrying and blocking. He could summon as many blades as he wanted, but they would disappear when they left his grasp. As such, he could not throw them.

Though his eyes revealed his inner madness, and his style was animalistic, Saber knew that her enemy did not attack like a mad beast. He had skill, and stopped from time to time to switch blades, trying another weapon, to see if it could pierce her defenses.

-You possess quite a lot of blades, Berserker. Where did you gain them?

He swung at her with a his latest blade, an immense slab of metal that would be unwieldy and impractical for someone without massive strength. When she dodged, he dropped it and switched again.

He was a Berserker who did not go berserk- a contradiction.

Mad Enhancement was the main power of a Berserker. They were not supposed to have particularly strong Phantasms or high parameters on their own, so they fell to madness to gain greater power. He was fast, strong and resilient.

Were he to activate Mad Enhancement, he would become an even deadlier opponent. She shook her head and dodged another strike of his black blades. His eyes were fixed in her invisible blade. Could he see it?

-That is a mighty blade. Could I see it?

So he could not see the blade. She shook her head. She had succeeded in her attacks twice already, as he could not dodge as well without seeing the blade. She attempted to move away, closer to Irisviel, and Berserker noticed. However, he suddenly stopped dead on his tracks. A voice echoed over the beach.

- _On the power of a Command Seal, I tell you, Berserker. Strike Saber down!_

His tattoos flashed with power, and a predatory grin appeared in his face. His Master had used _two_ Command Seals already. This was irregular. Either the Master of Berserker was incredibly foolish...

Or he had more then three Seals at his disposal.

Berserker charged at her. She braced for the impact. This could be the end of her performance in this War. She would need to get serious. She pointed her sword at the ground, and released Invisible Air. Berserker pulled another blade. A long, sharp blade, designed to bisect a human with a single strike. His eyes shone with bloodlust.

-Die.

They looked into each other's eyes for a brief second, then her Phantasm activated.

**_-Strike Air: Hammer of the Wind King!_ **

And the blast of wind activated, throwing Berserker off balance and sending her flying backwards. The black blade passed harmlessly through the air were she had been an instant ago. This strike could have caused a serious wound on her. Berserker's tattoos ceased to glow.

This was... different.

These Command Seals the Master of Berserker had used... were not normal. He had been commanded to kill both her and Irisviel- and had failed in both occasions. The power boost of a Command Seal should have allowed him to complete at least one of these orders.

These Command Seals... were fake. Something had allowed the Master to replicate them, but the copies were not nearly as effective as the originals. They seemed to only strengthen the Servant for a few seconds. She smiled.

Berserker had a frown in his face.

-Master...

He looked at the direction his Master likely was.

- _Can you stop using your copies of the Seals, Master?!_

His Master emerged from the shadows, a man with pale hair and dull-gold eyes. He had a calm look in his face, like nothing was wrong and there weren't two Servants battling right in front of him. He looked at Master

_-_ No. We have a supply, and consuming two of them to destroy a single Servant was deemed an acceptable trade by my superiors.

Berserker's eye twitched. She took the opportunity to ready her blade again. The enemy Master cleared his throat.

-Could you please surrender?

She blinked. Irisviel seemed just as confused as she was. He was offering _surrender?_ In the Grail War?

-My Servant is obviously superior. I possess a large supply of mass-produced Command Seals. Therefore, you cannot win, Saber.

Irisviel narrows her eyes, and looks at her. She cannot surrender. She still has things to do. Saber points her blade at the Master. Said Master sighs and walks back, distancing himself from them both.

-I cannot surrender. I desire the Grail, and I will obtain it.

The Master nods.

-I see. Very well. Berserker, end them.

Berserker once more assumes his animalistic, predatory smile. The battle is restarted, and a pair of eyes watches over it.

Kiritsugu Emiya watched over the battle through the scope of his rifle. When Irisviel had sent the signal, he had moved as fast as he could, and found two Servants in a fierce battle. Saber and Berserker. Assassin was already down- and this conflict could likely claim the life of another Servant.

However, the information he had gleaned from it was extremely worrying. The Master of Berserker possessed a supply of copied Command Seals- which was an immense advantage in the War. He had to be eliminated quickly- or possibly convinced to trade his supply in exchange for his life.

These Seals were mere copies, and seemed to only boost the Servant for a brief instant- Berserker had failed in his executions of Irisviel and Saber, both of them boosted by the Seals. Were they true Seals, he would have already lost the War.

Berserker was also hard to identify- a tattooed warrior who fought with black blades. He had to study possible candidates for the spot of Berserker before the War, but he had not foreseen this one.

According to what he had heard, his Mad Enhancement was not activated.

This was a possibility he had not thought of before. By deactivating Mad Enhancement, the spot of Berserker could contain virtually any type of warrior. Kiritsugu aimed at the Master.

The Master was vulnerable. He could end this now.

Then, Kiritsugu heard a screech.

He managed to quickly move out of the way, before an insectoid creature came out of nowhere to stab him in the stomach. His eyes widened. A familiar.

More screeches could be heard, but they weren't coming only for him. He saw, in the place where he was, that a small contingent of insect beasts was moving towards the fighting Servants. Saber protected Irisviel, with a circle of creatures coming for them two. Likely Caster.

Kiritsugu dodged a beast's suicidal strike, then took his pistol out of his pocket. Three beasts had surrounded him. They hissed at him, made strange clicking sounds with their mouths and then lunged.

Unloading a few bullets into the head of the familiar, he smiled as it fell in the ground, dead. The otther insects begun to twitch, spikes growing in their backs. They possessed a familiar style of self-biokinesis. He had seen these creatures before.

_Sarkic beasts._

Kiritsugu had fought them before. These specific beasts could only be created by the old and powerful Karcists, and the ones he had faced, during that cursed mission to assassinate Karcist Jakasen, did not heal this fast. Whoever had created them was a powerful Sarkic, likely a Servant. If the Sarkics had entered the War...

He loaded his pistol and looked at his rifle. This was going to be a problem. Maiya was there too, and she was much more vulnerable to the beasts then he was himself. She could die to them.

He looked at the beasts, then at the area where Maiya should have gone, then to Irisviel. He swore under his breath, and ran away from the monsters.

Meanwhile, Berserker and Saber defended their Masters from the horde of beasts.

Saber decapitated a monster with her sword, as Berserker danced through the battlefield, covered in blood, the entrails of dead familiars lodged in his blades. She slashed at another, bisecting it. They screeched in unison, and begun to retreat.

Berserker looked at Saber and grinned.

-Now, we can recomence our duel.

He dropped his swords, which then vanished into thin air, and pulled out new ones. Saber entered a combat stance. Berserker's Master coughed.

-No, Berserker. We have to leave. We failed to complete our mission. The more time we stay here, the bigger the chance to attract more Servants.

Berserker looked confused.

-And?

His Master walked away. Berserker cursed in some unknown language, and followed. Before they left, however, he pointed his blades at her.

-This is not over.

Then, they left, leaving Irisviel and Saber "alone" in the beach.

Assassin watched them both. His Presence Concealment had prevented both the beasts and the Servants from noticing him. He looked at his hand, with the mark drawn across it. He prayed for victory.

The Hassan of the Collective retreated to the Tohsaka residence.


	19. Newborns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where a gentleman comes to the aid of an old man.

Zouken Matou looked at his summoning circle. It was done.

He wondered what had caused his life to go to hell so quickly. The last War had been perfectly survivable and no actual issues had happened during its course, after all. Well, not really. There was the Einzberns' summoning of Foreigner and the Edelfelts' double Saber trick, but nothing like this. This was ridiculous.

There was the Foreigner attempting to construct a whole new Factory in Fuyuki City, and the Foundation murdering all Masters they could get their hands on, then seizing the Grail... well, the Third War hadn't been normal at all.

It was strange. None of their Holy Grail Wars had went well. It was almost as the Grail was cursed. However, the last Wars had been dangerous to _other people._ He hadn't been in danger at all.

This war had been certainly been dangeroud to him.

Berserker's Master had a _Command Seal stockpile,_ for starters _._ The Foundation had stacked the deck in their favor, for sure. He cursed under his breath. The Foundation was a fearsome enemy. Of couse they would stack the deck in their favor. They likely had extracted the Seals from the Masters they had killed in the previous War.

The damnable insectoid familiars of the Sarkic servant had been tracking his worms for days. This area was the only safe place he had managed to find. He really shouldn't have stolen the Akuloth worms.

He had nearly been killed by them when they had cornered him. He had expended some of his last combat-ready worms in order to kill them. They had likely already called their siblings to slay him.

He shook his head. He could not compete with the Servants by himself. He would need to summon a Servant of his own. All of the seven classic slots had been filled, but, strangely, he had managed to detect the summons of _ten_ servants. He had a theory. The Grail was currently malfunctioning.

He knew this war was incredibly unusual. It was certainly not impossible that he could summon a Servant of his own...

He looked at the circle again. It would probably not be a normal Servant- and the already summoned Servants were certainly powerful. He had managed to see some of the summoned Servants with his Worms.

Foreigner was certainly a Fifthist. It was currently studying the town. It looked mad in the surface, but Zouken knew that its twisted Church held great power, and it was certainly intelligent. It had noticed his Worms, and spoke to him. There was madness in that voice, but it sounded... strange. Not exactly fake, but... unnatural. Like Foreigner was not accostumed to say these words.

Caster, the one which had been sending these accursed familiars after him, had definitely been summoned by his damned child, Kariya. Kariya had struck a deal with the Karcists. Likely for Sakura. The boy had always been obsessed with her. Nevertheless, it was a powerful Servant, and its beasts had nearly killed Saber and Berserker's Masters.

Saber and Berserker were the ones he had most information on. Saber was the Einzberns' Servant, and Berserker... was the Foundation's own. Berserker was likely the most dangerous of all- with the Foundation assisting that monstrous swordsman, he could be unstoppable. Saber was expected, and was likely Joan de Arc. He could not think of many other like her. He didn't have time for research.

The Foundation had likely detected him. He had to get closer to the mountain in order to evade the beasts. He had traded the possibility of being devoured by sarkic insects for the possibility of being detected by the Foundation, then locked in a containment cell until the end of time.

He would take the latter one.

The summoning circle activated and begun to shine.

A... slug stood in the circle. No, it was a man. A man in a top hat and victorian clothing. With the face of a slug. What kind of hero was this? He held a large gun in his hands. The slug-man laughed.

-Well, greetings, my Master!

The summoning had succeeded. Zouken sneered and looked at his hand. The Command Seals were there.

-What is your class, servant?

-Oh, I am Servant Gunner! But don't call me that. It is unproper for a gentleman to hide his own name!

The slug-man offered his hand to him. He shook it.

-I am Lord Theodore Thomas Blackwood! We will win this Holy Grail War, together! Tell me, Master, is is true that Christ's very grail, a holy relic beyond measure, is in this city?

So he thought the Holy Grail was the Christian one. It would be better to confirm this belief for now. Zouken nodded.

-If it truly is the Grail sought by knights of ancient times, found by Galahad so many years ago, I must obtain it! Let us go, Master! We must hurry! The Grail will not wait for us!

He had obtained an... interesting Servant, thought Zouken. But he would certainly be enough to protect him from the Sarkic beasts. He did a small, coughing noise to attract Gunner's attention.

-I would be happy to help you, Blackwood, but I am currently being... hunted. I would require your help.

Gunner immediately turned his head and looked at his eyes.

-Hunted? Who hunts you, my Master?

Zouken smiled.

-Sarkic insect beasts. Crafted by another Servant, likely a powerful Karcist.

He pointed at the ruined corpse of one of them with his hands. Gunner Blackwood did not have human eyes, but he looked like they would have widened, if he had them.

-Sarkics! These are Hunters of Lovataar, Master! Insidious and cruel beasts! You have slain three of them already?

Zouken nodded.

-Yes, Blackwood. My last... resources... were spent when I destroyed the Sarkic's familiars.

Gunner laughed again, then placed his gun over his shoulder. It was a sleek, ancient weapon. It was _definitely_ his Noble Phantasm. Summoning this Servant had been a wise move. The beasts could not kill him while he was under its protection.

-Then we will hunt them as well! They hunted man, and man will hunt them back! Let us begin our great hunt! This reminds me of my summer in the Castle of Lakota, where me and my friends killed a mighty Sarkic beast! It had deadly, enormous talons, every one of them large enough to skewer a man, a monstrous beak filled with sharpened tentacles, and it flew with incredible grace!

As Gunner told his tale of woe, of man prevaling over a mighty beast, Zouken didn't really listen. He would win this War. He was sure of it.

Somewhere else, a girl sat in a table in a coffee shop.

She had absolutely no idea of who she even was. She had been searching in the library for a whole lot of time, and had been unable to find any historical figures that looked like her. This would prove nothing- there weren't many photographs of most ancient figures, and artists tended to portray them with the looks that they _thought_ they had, not their actual looks _._ She had searched in the internet in order to find her identity, but again, to no results.

The computers they had here were _really slow,_ and she seemed familiar with the workings of computers _._ This proved two things- either she had came from the future, from an era with more advanced, fast and useful computer technology, or she was from an _alternate reality_ with more advanced computer technology.

She still didn't know who she was, but she was getting closer. For starters, she had decided to start using a provisory name until she could find her real one. "Mary" was a good name, if a bit generic.

Mary took a sip of her coffee, and slumped in her chair. She was actually really afraid. She had absolutely no idea of how she would survive this War. She didn't know what Skills she had, she didn't know what Phantasms she had, and she didn't even know her own stats.

The Grail had screwed up. Badly. Very badly.

Her face fell on the table. At least she could go into spirit form. That was how she had got this coffee. She had no way of actually buying one, since she had zero money, and no way of getting a job.

Thus, she had to break in and steal from a coffee shop, so she would have something to eat. She didn't actually need it, but she wanted to eat. She was... the correct word wasn't "hungry." It was "desiring to eat." Her mana reserves were filled, so there wasn't anything wrong.

Something was supplying her mana. She didn't have a Master, so she assumed she was an irregular Servant.

She sighed and pressed the lightswitch. The lights went off, and she entered spirit form. She had a theory. She looked at her tattooed hands and walked out of the building, easily bypassing the wall. She had, somehow, been summoned with _herself_ as the Master. The Grail had assumed that the Servant and the Master were the same person, and fused the two. Her Master's body had probably been sublimated into her spiritual form...

Or something like that. It was just a theory. She didn't know shit about magecraft or ancient magical relics. She had no idea of how they worked.

She walked through the darkened streets. It was a beautiful night.

"Mary" looked at the sky. She prayed that her enemies weren't too powerful. She didn't know exactly who was the one who she was praying to, but she felt better. Whoever she was, she had to survive. She really had to.

In another place, there was a discussion.

It was in a house. The Einzbern's house. Their current base of operations. Saber, Irisviel von Einzbern, Kiritsugu Emiya and Hisao Maiya sat in a table, discussing important aspects of this Grail War. Kiritsugu took a dossier out of his bag, and placed it in the table.

-This is... the info which I have been capable of obtaining. It isn't much.

He opened the dossier, and pointed to a photograph of a tanned woman in a suit. Her eyes were obscured by a black square.

-I had... some info on Berserker. This woman was supposed to be his Master. She is dead, and that man has taken her place.

Saber looked at the photograph. This woman was the Master of the Servant she had faced earlier? What had happened to her?

-According to the a Serpent's Hand mole in Site-Fuyuki, the Foundation says that she died of a tragic brain hemorrhage right after a mission, and the site's director was chosen to take her spot.

Kiritsugu's tone revealed that he did not believe that this woman had died of a tragic brain hemorrhage at all. Did the Foundation kill one of their own agents? Saber scowled. She wasn't liking this. Kiritsugu flipped through the pages, revealing another photograph.

-The site director is Marisbury Animusphere. The mole won't be able to help us a lot, as he was detected and fled. But he managed to gleam some information. He is a magus, and belongs to one of the families who fled from the Mage's Association.

She looked at her Master's partner. She revealed something in her hand. A mark. It looked like a snake.

-Maiya is a member of the Serpent's Hand, Saber. She has a lot of information, but not everything. But she managed to get some tips from other members.

Maiya flipped through the dossier, and revealed another face. A japanese man.

-This man is "Dan Sonya." He has definitely summoned his own Servant in the War. He has the support of the Serpent's hand, just as we have. But he has much more influence then I do.

Irisviel looked at Maiya's arm, puzzled. Saber looked at the enemy Master's photo. This group, the Hand. They were playing both sides? Trying to control two Masters?

-Why is the Hand supporting two Masters?

Maiya sighed.

-The Hand is not unified. We are a loose coalition of splinter factions, barely held together by a common enemy. The Serpent supporting two Masters is expected.

As they spoke, in another house, Illyasviel von Einzbern sat in a comfortable sofa. She held a TV controller in her hand. Normally, her parents would have not taken her to the War, and would have left her in the castle. However, circumstances had forced them to take her with them, as the Foundation was watching the Einzbern castle with their hawk eyes,

They still had the care of leaving her with the maids, in a safer house, with one of Maiya's trusted allies to protect her. Said ally was currently unconscious in the sofa, while the innocent girl tried to wake him up.

-Hey, wake up!

She shook her head. Her father's friend's own friend was nice, but he had fell asleep. Right now, out of nowhere! She looked at the TV. There was a colorful man in there! His clothes were rather funny. The man smiled, and took off his funny hat.

-Hello, kids!

She was a kid! She said hello to the funny man.

-It's me, Bobble the Clown! Do you want to learn something new?

She did want to learn something new! She nodded to Bobble. Bobble laughed.

-Then let's learn, kids! Today's episode- Bobble's Sneaky Saturday!


	20. O5 Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where someone throws a tantrum.

**Communication Log 2491-08-05  
Date: **██/██/19██

After the resignation of O5-8, the O5 Council, in order to select the next holder of the Overseer Eight slot, the O5 Council met through remote conference call. The following transcript is classified, and requires clearance level 5 to read.

WARNING:  
ANY NON-AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ACCESSING THIS FILE WILL BE IMMEDIATELY TERMINATED THROUGH BERRYMAN-LANGFORD MEMETIC KILL AGENT. SCROLLING DOWN WITHOUT PROPER MEMETIC INOCULATION WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE CARDIAC ARREST FOLLOWED BY DEATH.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.  
  


> MEMETIC KILL AGENT ACTIVATED

CONTINUED LIFE SIGNS CONFIRMED

REMOVING SAFETY INTERLOCKS

_Welcome, authorized personnel._

<BEGIN LOG>

 **O5-1:** Gentlemen. We have a... situation in our hands.

 **O5-4:** Situation? This is a betrayal, One. I told you this would happen!

**O5-7: [UNCOMPREHENSION]**

**O5-2:** Anne... no, Seven. Seven, Eight has betrayed us.

**O5-7: [SADNESS]**

**O5-9:** Uhhh... why? I didn't know him very well, but I did not anticipate this.

 **O5-12:** He was involved in the SCP-2491 case. Does that case possess any connections to possible motives behind his betrayal?

 **O5-1:** _(coughs)_ Yes. Eight had a grudge. He never actually wanted for the Grail War to be re-opened.

 **O5-9:** But he surely understood the reasons, didn't he? The Fuyuki Accords? The ones we signed with the Coalition post-war?

 **O5-4:** I see that you've done your history homework. But that son of a bitch clearly didn't!

 **O5-12** : Four, please remain calm. Insulting Eight won't help.

**O5-7: [CONFUSION]**

**O5-1:** We did not came here to insult a former Overseer, Four. We came here for two primary reasons.

 **O5-2:** We are supposed to decide what to do with Eight, aren't we? The "choosing a new O5" thing is just a pretext. We have nominated next O5s for every one of us, after all.

 **O5-1:** Exactly. We should also discuss a possible war with the Coalition, thanks to his actions. _(pauses)_ He... well...

 **O5-4:** That fucker stole one of the Keys of Solomon.

 **O5-9:** What the fuck.

**O5-7: [SHOCK]**

**O5-12:** This is a very grave matter. Weren't the Keys possessed by the Coalition?

 **O5-5:** Oh my.

 **O5-10:** Damn.

 **O5-3:** So he stole a Key from the Coalition. Have they reacted yet? A war would be catastrophic.

 **O5-6:** Surprising. I did not expect such an action from him.

 **O5-13:** Fascinating.

 **O5-4:** That's why we should kill him. Send the Red Right Hand, then give his bloody head to the Coalition on a silver platter, with the Key he stole.

 **O5-12:** Actually, Four, the Coalition has no reason to suspect us. They would probably attack the remnants of Obskurakorps, the Insurgency, or the Serpent's Hand. One. Did our information network reveal anything?

 **O5-1:** You are correct, Twelve. The Coalition, actually suspects no one.

 **O5-3:** How? They didn't notice?

 **O5-2:** Yes, in fact, Eight replaced it with a replica. We don't know how, but it's good enough to fool them.

 **O5-3:** But it's going to be discovered, were the Coalition ever attempt to use it.

 **O5-6:** Let's pray that no sufficiently horrible situation comes, and forces then to use it, then.

**O5-7: [CONCERN]**

**O5-4** : Now you're concerned, aren't you? You probably jack off to photos of Blake's disgusting face, you little shit, Miss Lovecraft. We should have shipped you off to the gocks so they could kill you, you worthless- _(gets cut off)_

 **O5-1:** Four, stop. Just stop. _(sighs)_ I know that you're furious. We've been betrayed by one of the most respected members of the Foundation. Just... please, we don't have time for this. Please. I'm asking you.

 **O5-4:** ( _silence_ )

 **O5-1:** I'm being serious. We need to come to a decision, and quickly.

 **O5-4:** _(sighs)_ Very well, One.

 **O5-12:** If Eight is in the area of Fuyuki, we should simply dispatch the MTFs to get him, shouldn't we?

 **O5-9:** Well, if he has a key...

 **O5-4:** He summoned Solomon himself. We don't know how powerful he is. He designed the damn Rite, he can probably beat some MTFs.

 **O5-6:** Samsara is an option.

 **O5-1:** Unfortunately, Four is right. Samsara depends on reincarnation cycles in order to be effective. Someone capable of nulifying said reincarnation cycle could possibly destroy Tau-5 permanently.

 **O5-6:** Can Solomon do that?

 **O5-9:** I wouldn't be surprised if he could, he's supposed to be the King of Magic.

 **O5-10** : The man who could change the laws of magic themselves.

 **O5-12:** I believe that we should simply wait.

 **O5-2** : Wait?

 **O5-12:** The summoned Servants could take care of Solomon. The Lesser Grail remains in our possession, stored safely in Site-Fuyuki. If the War goes off the rails, we can simply destroy it, and make the ritual impossible to complete. Therefore, a wise move would be to simply wait. The problem, which is the continued existance of Solomon as a Heroic Spirit, will solve itself. The second that Eight loses his Servant, we dispatch someone to kill him. Then, we can complete the War.

**O5-7: [SADNESS]**

**O5-12:** I know. Eight's betrayal was surprising, and he served the Foundation for many years, Seven. But he must face consequences.

 **O5-6:** That is a good plan. We should also place some of our forces in Site-Fuyuki, in order to ensure the Lesser Grail's safety.

 **O5-12:** Indeed.

 **O5-11:** I presume that we will have to pass to less important matters now.

 **O5-1:** We will vote at the end of this meeting.

<END LOG>

**Addendum O5.2491-3**

**SUBJECT OF COUNCIL VOTE:** inaction regarding the matter of O5-8's betrayal, due to concerns regarding the instance of SCP-2491-3 connected to him, plus the increase in military forces waiting in Site-Fuyuki for protection of SCP-2491-2.

 **VOTING MEMBERS:** O5-1, O5-2, O5-3, O5-4, O5-5, O5-6, O5-7, O5-9, O5-10, O5-11, O5-12  
**NON-VOTING MEMBERS:** O5-8 (position currently empty), O5-13 (abstained)

 **FOR: (5)** O5-1, O5-2, O5-4, O5-6, O5-10, O5-11, O5-12  
**AGAINST (3):** O5-3, O5-7, O5-9.  
**ABSTAIN: (2)** O5-5, O5-13.

Motion passes.


	21. Factory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where something very important is discovered- seriously, the Foundation didn't want to use the nukes, but you aren't making this easy.

Day broke.

Kariya Matou awoke. He looked around and slowly got up from the pile of witch-hounds he had slept on last night. He yawned and and stroked one of them on the back. It twitched, turned its skull-head towards him, and then licked him in the face.

Matou smiled, and petted the hound. Then, he stood up, studying the area.

He still hadn't gotten used to the bleeding walls and mouths on the ground, thought he. And he probably never would. Lavalken was probably somewhere around the "house" they were living in. He looked at the bed, next to his pile of Nälkä familiars. Sakura rested peacefully _._ It had been hard to convince the Karcist that she should have a normal bed, not some sort of horrible flesh cocoon. Sakura already had enough of that.

He still didn't know what to do with her. He couldn't give her back to her _father,_ because he would probably just give her to _another_ family of magi, then it would start all over again. He didn't trust himself, either. He had left his own nephew with Zouken. The old man hadn't throw him in the worm pit yet, but he wasn't a magus. The only use he could have to his twisted father was worm food.

Speaking of Shinji, he should probably think of something to do with him. He couldn't leave him with Byakuya. His brother was in no condition of taking care of a child. He had... problems, and Kariya acknowleged he was at fault for some of them. Kariya had been the magus. He was to be the family head.

When he had left, all of these expectations, _Zouken's expectations,_ had fallen upon his brother. He did not blame his for his breakdown. Zouken had made him into his tool. His Circuits weren't strong enough. He was effectively a non-mage.

So, he was married off to someone who could strengthen the lineage. When that person failed... _Zouken had fed her to the worms._ He didn't regret running away, but Byakuya had suffered. Much of it, in his stead.

He had spoken to him, earlier. Asked him to come. To run away from their accursed family. He didn't do anything. He stayed in the bar and drunk more. His brother was a broken man. He had to make sure his nephew wouldn't suffer from the same fate.

Kariya sighed and walked out of the room, leaving Sakura to her sleep. His nephew was in the other room- it was better to not disturb him. The witch-hound followed him, wagging its tail and tendrils, and pant excitedly. He had... grown fond of it.

He walked through the flesh-halls. The beast Rider had created yesterday... had grown into a house.

It was incredible. The fish-monster had started with the size of his palm, grew to the size of a car, and was currently a full-fledged living house, burrowed on the bottom of the river.

Rider, or as he knew her now, Lovataar, had been training him. Her standards were much higher then Lavalken's, but... she was surprisingly reasonable. He wasn't coming out of her training sessions wishing to die, like he had been with the Karcist's own.

He believed that it was caused by his own strength increasing. He felt better every day. He ran faster, he breathed more lightly, he was more flexible, more... well, everything. He had never felt like this before.

Plus, by now he probably had a dozen new organs and a whole set of glands that no normal human should have.

He continued walking through the flesh hallways. Eventually, he came across the door to Rider's bedroom. He knocked on the bone door. A voice came from the inside.

-Come in.

Kariya Matou found himself inside of his Servant's room. She was playing with a small blob of flesh, making it grow legs, discard them, then grow them again. It would be disgusting... but he had gotten used to it. She looked at him.

-Oh, good morning, Master. I have just finished my _lüjekütake_ , my prayers for strength. Is it time?

He nodded. Lovataar stood up, and opened her bone wardrobe. Tentacles burst from her flesh, searching for something inside of it. Kariya sighed and walked out of the room. He would wait in the outside while she changed. 

A few minutes later, Lovataar came out of her room, who looked very happy. She looked quite normal, dressed with a simple jacket, a shirt and pants. A perfectly normal young woman. She looked at him.

-Well, Master, we are late, aren't we?

Kariya nodded. It was time to depart. He and Rider walked through the whale-house, until they found themselves in a dark room. The Klavigar tapped the walls, and the entire "building" shook. It slowly removed its large body from the bottom of the river, and swam towards tthe harbor.

After a while, the whale-house stopped shaking, and collided with something. Lovataar grinned, and walked towards the flesh walls- not that Kariya could see it, as the room was too dark, and his eye mutations hadn't been applied yet.

She touched a lump of flesh, and dug her claws into it. The house-beast twitched, and opened its mouth. Rider went into spirit form, but Kariya wasn't so lucky. The water that had filled the room- actually, the creature's mouth- caught him by surprise.

A few minutes later, he found himself in land again, having reached it in a very particular way. The creature had, after its mouth was filled with water, basically spat him out. Somehow, no one had noticed. His Servant materialized in front of him, snickering, completely dry. He cursed under his breath. She tapped his forehead.

-Come, Master. Lavalken is waiting for us.

Kariya stood up, soaked to the bone, and followed Lovataar to the city. Meanwhile, a man and a Servant walked through the darkened sewers. One of them held a lantern. The other didn't need it.

-Hey, Alter, what are we doing here?

The dark spirit looked at his Master's eyes. It sighed.

-I spoke to you about the Holy Grail War, didn't I, Master?

Ryuunosuke nodded. Yes, the supposed legendary conflict. Seven spirits, from different times and places, the greatest mankind could offer, placed in a deadly competition, to slaughter each other for a prize. It was cool as fuck.

-Yeah, I do.

The monster, the Servant going by the name of "Alter" at the moment, smiled. Its "smile" was the fakest smile ever made- it resembled Ryuunosuke's own twisted smile, but it was so obviously fake, that even a blind man could notice it was not truly happy.

If it even had the capacity to understand the concept of "happiness" right now, thought the serial killer. Alter was a strange being. It flutuated between a completely uptight, holier-then-thou fanatic, an emotionless killing machine, a sadistic murderer, a sociopathic soldier that obeyed his every command. Some things, however, were present in all of Alter's personalities.

It always had that underlying machine-like rationality, even if it was tainted. It always made sure to consume the bodies of their victims before they died, if they weren't going to make new works with their remains.

Then, it recycled the bodies into a sort of... paste, that was then placed inside of a few body bags which they had stolen from the police. It claimed that they could later be used for fuel- as they were, according to it, still alive.

It always cauculated the most safe victims to capture, like in that time where they had nearly kidnapped a policeman's daughter. It meticulously traced their backgrounds, their professions, and how likely they were to be actually missed.

First, he hadn't liked Alter's ideas, as they had both reduced the amount of victims and made the whole thing less exciting. But Uryuu Ryuunosuke didn't want to go to jail, and Alter allowed him to capture a lot of people, as long as he made an effort to mislead the police.

It was actually funny. It hadn't taken a lot- they just had to have a bit more of care, wearing gloves and the like, burning the evidence in Alter's furnace, and just overall taking more care.

Alter also spent a lot of time building his machines.

They were really cool. They looked human, but they had tentacles inside of their bellies. Alter had installed some sort of capture mechanism in there. The machines looked like humans, if bald, genderless and made of bronze, but when they came upon a victim, their bellies opened, and a whole ton of wires and tentacles came out.

The tentacles then dragged the unfortunate target towards the machine, who then opened. Its bones were _mostly_ hollow, kinda like a bird's bones. He had learned it from _somewhere_ that bird's bones were hollow.

The target, then, was shoved inside of the machine by the wires, and crushed them into a paste, with pieces of broken bones and stuff flying everywhere. The process was _really_ slow, and didn't dirty the area with blood.

He had the coolest Servant ever. He just didn't knew what they were looking for, inside of these really large sewers. They smelled horrible.

-Yeah, Alter, I know. But what are we trying to find? I mean, here in the sewers?

Alter looked at him with its dead eyes.

-The Factory.

He blinked. There was a factory in the sewers? How hadn't he heard of that yet? Alter made a wide gesture.

-A few years ago, a mere sixty, a weak Servant built a replica of the Factory. I managed to sense that it was destroyed, but ruins remain inside of the sewers.

The metallic plate in his face reflected the lantern's light. So, there were ruins of a factory inside of the sewers? He didn't know that, but it seemed useful. Would be a good place to sleep in, if nothing else.

They kept walking. Eventually, the walls of the sewers... changed. They weren't fully made of stone anymore. There were pieces of a dull, grey metal randomly spread across them. There were random, ruined pieces of machinery spread across the ground. He was pretty sure the design here wasn't even a sewer anymore.

-These are the deepest parts of the sewers...

Deepest... parts? Were these sewers or catacombs? Ryuunosuke looked at the ground and coughed. The smell was still in there. The breathing aid that Alter had given him prevented him from choking or suffocating, but didn't stop the smell.

They stepped into a large, ruined section. This was an actual factory, yes. It seemed deactivated. There were destroyed parts spread across the area, the walls were mostly made of holes, there were large machines that were more rust then metal everywhere... it was a factory, yes, but it didn't seem very useable. No one could manufacture anything in this place.

Alter's metallic body was clicking and whirring. His Servant looked... excited.

-The Factory is here.

It walked towards a large construction, that looked like a mix between a furnace and a fax machine. It had a large opening, seemingly for fuel. Alter caressed it gently.

-This is the Factory's basis. An alchemical molecular printer.

Uryuu looked at the machine, and scratched his head.

-How does it work?

Alter "smiled" again.

-Oh, of course.

It tapped the "fax" part- an opening that seemed like it was the part where the product was supposed to came through.

-This will produce many powerful works- at a simple cost. It merely requires fuel.

Fuel? Alter pointed to the furnace opening.

-We just have to put all of that paste I stored in here. It just needs some souls to work. The more painful their demise, the better.

That was definitely not something any factory he knew would allow, but it was kinda cool _._ Alter "smiled" again, and pointed at another part of the ruined factory. An elevator.

-Now, Master. Shall we seek some _fuel?_

Oh, now Alter was speaking his language. He was always down for that.

As the twisted pair planned their next move, the former O5-8, or simply Blake, sat in a sofa, the King of Magecraft right next to him. They had planned their moves- had constructed their weapons. Now, they were simply... waiting.

-Hey, Caster?

Caster looked towards his Master.

-Yes?

Blake smiled at him, then pointed at the book the Servant had been reading. The former Overseer was himself watching television. He didn't even care about what was going on in the screen. He just wanted a distraction.

Caster looked at the tome. With his Clairvoyance, it was a mere formality, but he did it anyway. "An essay in advanced memetics, by Marion Wheeler" was written in the cover. He spoke the book's name to his Master.

-It is "An essay on advanced memetics, by Marion Wheeler."

Said Master sighed and stood up from the sofa.

-I'm going sightseeing. You don't have to wait for me if I'm late.

Blake walked out of the house. This would not end well. Caster gazed into his Master's fate. He immediately fell of the sofa, clutching his head. It was like... there wasn't a future... or he couldn't see it. He looked at the book. It was opened on page 212. He noticed one detail. The chapter's title.

"Future Prediction, and Class-12 Memetic Agents: When you don't want to know what's coming next."

This was bad. Caster sighed, then entered spirit form. He followed his Master. It wouldn't be a good idea to leave his master alone. He doubted this page opening in that exact moment was a mere coincidence.

If he didn't interfere, his Master was going to get into trouble.


	22. Treasury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Gilgamesh reflects.

Inside of the Tohsaka mansion, a powerful Servant sat in a chair. The King of Heroes, Gilgamesh. He had been rather bored, today. He hadn't been doing anything noteworthy. A fight had broken out before two of the enemy Servants. He did not see it himself, unfortunately.

It was nothing. He could wait for another opportunity. One would come soon. His contractor, Tokiomi, was currently in another room, speaking to his subordinate, Kotomine. Gilgamesh looked at the window. Soon, it would be night.

This era he had been summoned in was... interesting, to say the least. He had read some of Kotomine's tomes on the world's history. Many things had happened since he had been gone. Uruk had fallen, and many others had as well. The Daeva, the Ortothans... all gone.

Interesting.

The world had changed greatly since he had departed, but this era held no beauty, and foolish men attempted to make it even uglier. An organization, known as the "Foundation," sought to chain and imprison all Mystery, to contain all of the "anomalies" of the world in cages.

Any and all treasures of this world were his. He would not tolerate thieves. He would simply reclaim his treasure from them. He looked at the wine cup in his hands. According to his contractor, it had been fabricated by an organization known as "Marshall, Carter and Dark."

Mercenaries, seeking nothing but more and more gold to fill their coffers. This organization had played with time merely to age a wine.

It was still utterly worthless compared to the wine he held in his treasury, but it was at least a creative method of winemaking. He finished the pathetic wine and stood up.

He entered spirit form, and vanished. It would soon be night, and he could sate his boredom. Gilgamesh did not think any of the Servants in this War were even comparable to his own self, but he was terribly bored. He "walked" through the walls, and found himself in another room.

It seemed to be simply a place to store Kotomine's armor. A single, bulky set of armor. "Mark Three Ultra-Heavy Engagement Chassis". Kotomine spent hours mantaining this piece of machinery. When he had inquired about its function, the agent said it was a combat suit.

According to him, the suit would, temporarily, allow Kotomine to fight in the same level as the other, lesser Servants, and possibly even kill one.

Gilgamesh smirked. It seemed that his Master's auxilliary was marginally more interesting then the Master himself, wasn't he?

The sun had set. It was night. He could alleviate his boredom.

Servant Lancer, Yorun-leusan, also known as the Holy Mage, sat on top of a cheap hotel, waiting.

The Holy Mage silently watched over the streets. He was bored out of his skull.

He slumped over. Things had been... fine. He was supposed to die in the year 2000.

Well, he had averted that. It hadn't taken a lot. He had merely written a letter. A simple letter to his own godly self. It had then been given to the Church. They could figure out how to send it.

It changed everything. He wasn't going to die anymore. He wouldn't be devoured by Voruteut in his own kingdom, wouldn't leave this world alone.It wasn't hard, but the future would be better. It also gave him a strange question.

How did he still exist? If he prevented his own death, he would never ascend to the Throne. It was a place that sat outside of the time axis, but it could not ignore causality entirely. He _had_ to die at some point in order to ascend... or did he?

Damn this Lancer incarnation. It lacked all of the knowledge he had gathered as a god.

There was only _one_ true Yorun. A single one. A god of the Koru-teusa was responsible to protect the whole multiverse. Would all of the Koru-teusa to die, the multiverse would simply end. There would be no more Throne to record the fallen Koru-teusa in.

Therefore, the absence of his brother, Rakmou-leusan, from the Throne was proof that the universe would never end.

At least, that was what he thought would happen? He wasn't truly sure. He could not truly verify if the death of his brethen would cause the end of the universe. His library could offer him answers, but he had no way of accessing it from here. Perhaps all of this was a lie.

Perhaps he only believed that because he wished for the universe to remain safe. Perhaps.

He looked around. He was a mortal here. Regardless or whether he would die at some point, it would not wipe him out. He _was_ dead. His mortal form had died. Only the Holy Sixth remained. Yorun, the hero, was long gone.

He looked at the sky. It was beautiful, wasn't it? He had always preferred the night-sky. So many of these beautiful stars, all united in a display of-

Yorun's eyes widened. There was a Servant nearby. He looked around. He couldn't see them, but he felt their presence. They were entering the Bounded Field he had set up. He summoned his staff into his hands. He might have been summoned into the wrong class, but he was still one of the Koru-teusa.

He would not go down without a fight.

Twirling his staff, and summoning a protective set of floating runes around him, he waited. His enemy would come soon.

He was soon proved right by a furious strike.

Meanwhile, six Assassins watched over the hotel from the roof of another building. One of them, whose name had been Zayd, looked at his "brethen" in the collective of the nineteenth Hassan-I-Sabbah through his mask. They looked at him back.

-What?

Another of them pointed at the Servant atop the building. It was clearly Lancer. This one was called Mozour. He was the anartist of the collective. He found the form of the enemy Servant to be strangely interesting. He should write a poem about them.

The other Assassins groaned at the thoughts of their fellow Hassan, shared through the collective.

Mozour's poetry was utter garbage, but no one would convince him to stop doing it, because it was art. It literally set the eyes of anyone reading it in fire, so it had been kind of useful in their lives. It was a sort of horrible skill that he had obtained in life.

It wasn't even unholy, cursed or demonic. All the evidence said that his poetry didn't have a drop of magic in it. It was simply that awful. According to their Master, Kirei Kotomine, that was referred in the modern day as "anart."

The Hassan Collective thought that the name was very appropriate. It was, in a way, the opposite of art. The negation of art.

They looked at the sky. It was night, and there wasn't anyone in the streets at this hour. The Servant battle that was likely to happen soon wouldn't harm the Veil which their Master had told them about. The Assassins hid in the shadows once more. It was time to work.

At the same time, Servant Rider froze. She looked around.

There wasn't anyone nearby who could notice it. Her mouth distorted, and her fangs lengthened. Sharpened bone claws burst from her fingertips. She tapped her Master in the shoulder.

-Two enemy Servants nearby.

He nodded. She looked at the hotel, the place where one pof the enemy Servants was. She could wait. Karcist Lavalken looked into her eyes. He also nodded, and fell on all fours. His form shifted to a more battle-oriented one, a cross between a lizard and a wolf.

Suddenly, the Klavigar heard the sounds of battle from the hotel. It was time to summon her true mount. She was a Rider, after all.

[/QUOTE]


	23. Production

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Zepia Eltnam Atlasia, Jack Bright, and an old man from nowhere play cards, and someone is freed from their burden.

This world was dead.

All of it had long since been consumed by an everlasting machine. Locked into its endless cycle. A vast expanse of dead land, filled with the soulless engines of the Factory. There is no wind to feel anymore. There is no visible sun anymore. No true life can be seen in this land anymore.

The Factory is all that remains.

Atop a giant tower of pipes and vents, a man awaits. Large clouds of black smoke, produced by the machinery around, cover his face. He is an old man. He has nowhere to go to. But again, it's been millenia since he had any. The tower twitches.

The tower is covered with ash and surrounded by smoke. It clicks and shakes and hisses and buzzes. It begins its task. Another large machine arrives, throwing hundreds of tonnes of dead matter into a hatch. The tower accepts the offering, and activates. There is work to do.

It quickly tears the pile dead matter into shreds, before its alchemical furnace flares to life. The dead matter is melted down. Were it still living, the process would be one of the most painful experiences in existance. But it is not alive, so it is not painful.

The melted matter is quickly made into black sludge. This sludge is then vomited by the tower, its pipes spitting dark goo into the pits. These pits will soon be drained. The thirst of its brethen will be satisfied. The task is complete. For now.

The tower receives its prize. Dozens of tonnes of scrap metal are thrown into the same hatch. The machine devours them.

It is satisfied as well. It sleeps. The job is done. For now.

Atop the tower, a man breathes relieved. The tower stopped twitching, so the man can finally go play his game. It is a curious game, designed by the man himself, so he could play it himself. He has been alone for a long time. The game is, therefore, absolutely perfect for him.

The man draws a card from a pile.

_XIV - Temperance._

An anchor, surrounded by flames, held in place by a single black chain. He looks at the card, sighs, then places it, face-down, in the metallic floor of the tower's roof. He flips it horizontally. Fifteen points.

He draws another card.

_King of Pentacles._

A man, surrounded by madness, holding a large pentagram. He places it next to the Temperance. Sixteen points.

He draws his third card.

_Page of Pentacles._

A man holding another pentagram, an amulet tied to his neck. Hands emerged from the ground, and a distorted blade could be seen behind him. It was going well. The Pentacles pile already had thirty-two points. He smiled and pulled his last two cards for the round.

_VIII - Strength._

A bear, with a necklace of flowers, and a woman caressing its ears. The man smiled. The image brought back memories.

_XIII - Death._

The Three Death Brothers. The man sneered. The Arcana pile had won the first round. They had won by mere three points. He looked at the cards, and picked them up. The man shuffled the five cards into his deck. He needed to take a break.

He picks up another card. He could just go for another round-

_XIII - Death._

He twitches. Maybe he should stop. Just a small break. He looks at his deck. He pulls a new card.

_XIII - Death._

What the fuck.

The man struggles to take control of himself. He breathes deeply, then shuffles the deck again, and looks at the cards.

_XIII - Death._

_XIII - Death._

He was visibly shaking with rage now. They had to torment him at every possible moment, didn't they?

_XIII - Death._

_XIII - Death._

_XIII - Death._

He loses the last drop of patience he had left. The man is sick of this. He throws the deck of cards away, into the sludge pit. The cards fall. He watches, as dozens of identical cards sank into the black goo.

Damn they.

After the pieces of paper slowly sink into the sludge, the old man falls on his knees. Once, these pieces of paper held a great power. A power that many would have killed and died for. The prize he had won from the Great Death long ago, the power to change fate itself. With the cards, he could challenge the Second's authority, holding the power of the Great Death at bay and preventing war and death.

He laughs. The cards allowed him to save the souls the Brothers had doomed.

But there were no souls left to be saved. There was no one left to fight any wars. No one left to die.

The tower awoke once more. It released another cloud of foul-smelling, acidic smoke, leaving the man coughing. The machine's heartbeat could be felt, as it vomited more sludge over the pit. He couldn't see anything anymore, with the smoke suffocating his senses.

The sound of the horrible machines inside of the iron tower was deafening. Gears whirring, claws scratching metal as they torn more matter apart to make fuel for the engines, the furnace hissing and shaking, and the pipes splurting more and more black sludge.

The Factory had taken its time. Since it succeeded in replicating itself, it never stopped. It had slowly but surely taken the world for itself. Now, it would grow and grow, until it had to tear the lifeless planet it resided in for raw materials. There was no way to save it.

The cacophony was awful.

As the sounds slowly decreased in intensity and the smoke waned, the old man heard a voice.

-Hello there.

There was someone else nearby. Turning around, he saw another man. The other man smiled to him. His eyes were closed. An ornate, jeweled amulet dangled from his neck. He wore purple and gold... robes, stained with ash. He didn't remember a name for these clothes he wore. The man felt like a Dead Apostle.

His very self radiated that impression. The aura of a "blood-drinking monster" that he had long learned to sense. The Dead Apostles were creatures, futilely trying to escape Death. No one should attempt escape death. He had no wish of sharing his cursed fate with anyone else.

The vampire sat on the roof of the tower and looked into his eyes. The old man looked back, and clared his throat.

-Who are you?

He vampire looks at the sky. It is completely covered in smoke nowadays. He seems to be lost in thought. It does not matter. All he needs to do is wait. He has time. After a while, the vampire sighs and looks at the metal floor.

-I... well...

He smiles again. His smile is not a happy smile. It is the opposite of one, a smile fueled by sadness. The vampire shakes his head and takes something out of his dirtied robes. A deck of cards. His deck of cards. The old man's eyes widen.

-I found this on the ground outside. Do you want to play a game?

He nods. Death won't leave him alone, will it? The vampire starts shuffling the deck. He picks nine cards and gestures for him to do the same. He takes the cards. What game is this one? The vampire offers his hand for him to shake.

-I am Zepia. And Bright as well. You can call me any of these.

Zepia, huh? He shakes the vampire's hand, who begins to explain the rules. He listens carefully. Zepia, or Bright. An interesting person. How had he survived this world? He could survive it, because the idea of him not surviving was impossible.

Yet, this hostile world had failed to kill the man before him.

The old man and the vampire kept playing. The first match was won by Zepia, who mysteriously managed to pull every single one of the necessary cards without fail every turn. The second match, in which he had decided to shuffle the deck, was won by him.

They kept playing for a while. He was having fun. At least he would spend a little time with another person. Before he died, of course. Then he would be left entirely alone. Again. He picked up another card. Oh, seven! He smiled and placed his hand in the table.

-I win.

Zepia, or Bright, smiled. He picked up the cards and shuffled them again. As he did that, the old man noticed strange markings in his partner's hands. A red fractal. He pointed towards it, and spoke.

-What's that mark?

The vampire stopped and looked at the marks as well, like he had forgotten they were even there. He tapped his chin.

-Well... they're me.

He blinked. What? Zepia, or Bright, held the amulet in his hands.

-Some time ago, after "it" happened...

The vampire made a vague gesture towards the Factory-infected landscape. The ruin of the world, yes.

-There was Zepia.

He pointed towards himself, then back to the amulet.

-Zepia touched the amulet.

He pointed at his forehead.

-Zepia stopped being Zepia. Zepia started being Bright.

He showed the marks, their red fractal patterns seeming to twist under his sight. They weren't really doing it, of course. It was an optical illusion. The vampire handed out his cards. The old man picked them up. His hand for this round sucked.

-The newly christened Bright, then, awoke in this land. There wasn't anything left, you see.

He nodded.

-Bright, then, used a bit of Zepia's blood as a catalyst for a ritual. That ritual was... let's just say it came from something called the Grail.

He then lay in the floor, looking at the sky. After a while, the vampire returned his position with an inhumanely fast movement. He pulled a card from the deck, discarding another. It was his turn. He picked up another card.

_XIII - Death_

He cursed under his breath, and revealed his hand to his partner. All of the cards had turned into the same one.

_XIII - Death_

Zepia, or Bright, lowered his head and revealed his own hand, who had the same problem.

_XIII - Death_

They both sighed. The old man picked the cards up, and placed them in the deck again. They could play later. He moved his hand towards the vampire in a "continue" gesture.

-What happened next?

His partner pouted. It was strange when he did that with closed eyes.

-Well, Bright called a spirit from beyond. A phantom of sorts, you see. Zepia.

He made a gesture with his hands. He pushed them away from each other and then put them back together. A reddish trail seemed to follow his movements. It was probably some kind of thaumaturgy.

-Then, Zepia and Bright fused. Became one.

Zepia, or Bright, smiled.

-We had not thought about choosing a new name for ourselves, you see. We did not think of an use for it. Zepia and Bright were two separate people... somewhat. There was a third guy in the mix too. Came with my pal Zepia.

He shrugged.

-Was a weirdo. Wasn't even a real person. More like a storm, you see. A weirdass phenomenon. He's asleep.

He took the amulet off.

-This thing held my, his soul, you see. Bright's soul. Now... we think it holds both.

The vampire shrugged again.

-It reacted weirdly to the ritual.

He laughed, and looked at the sky again. It was not covered in smoke anymore. It was filled with stars. They shone brighter and brighter every second. It was beautiful. Zepia, or Bright, laughed again and again, and his eyes opened for a brief second. They were red. But he was definitely a vampire, so the man supposed it didn't matter.

He couldn't kill him, and it wasn't like life could get any more cursed. The vampire took a two things from the insides of his robes- a card and a vial of red liquid. Was that what he thought it was?

-Is that blood?

Zepia, or Bright, laughed again.

-A substitute. I can make more, don't worry about me sucking your life juice. I'm not that kind of vampire.

He gave him the card, face-down. The vampire smiled at him, inviting him to see the card. He supposed it couldn't do any harm. He flipped the card.

_XIII - Death._

The old man did not feel anything, when the cold blade of a scythe finally claimed his accursed life.

Zepia and Bright contemplated the corpse with a saddened look. They were finally alone, weren't they? They looked up. A creature awaited above. An angel. Its body was smoke and fire, and its face was a void. It carried the smell and the sounds of death with every moment. Zepia frowned.

-This timeline will be pruned, won't it?

The creature nodded. Bright sighed.

-Can you give me a cigarrette, at least?

The creature came closer, until it was face to face with Bright and Zepia.

_-Zepia Eltnam Atlasia._

The Dead Apostle nodded. Yes, that was his name, or at least one of them.

_-Jack Bright._

Yes, the other name. The creature shifted, until it was simply a man. A man in black clothing, an obscured face, and a cigarrette in its hands. It offered it to Bright. Bright took it. Zepia remained silent inside of their consciousness. The entity in the shape of a man, which Bright had known as SCP-4999, moved away from both of them.

_-You're both tired, aren't you?_

Both Zepia and Bright nodded again. 4999 smiled kindly.

_-I normally appear to those who are alone, you see._

He pointed at the vast expanse, filled with the Factory's machinery. They were alone. They were utterly alone.

_-You have each other, but I always appear to people like you._

The last survivors of dead worlds.

_-Yes. You are the last ones. It will all end soon, for this world. But not for you._

The stars now shone with burning light in everywhere but the very tower they were in. The old man's corpse was already starting to turn to dust. The man knelt near it.

_-I am not supposed to end him. His torment is not over. His true self remains._

The man's form started ondulating under the light. It twisted and turned, until it was not there anything in there anymore. Its soft voice soke in their ears.

_-I cannot claim you, children. There is someone else who will claim you. You know who it is. You have asked for it._

It sounded terribly sad.

- _You do not know what you have done, do you? Or did you strike your deal knowing exactly the price you would pay, child?_

As the voice vanished, they both looked at the dying land. Vast swathes of land had already been erased from reality. The sky itself was melting under the overhelming light of the stars. This world would end soon. Both Bright and Zepia knew who would come to claim them. They had prayed for it, and it came.

Alaya.

Zepia and Bright looked at the old man's corpse. A cup, a deck of cards, a sack and an ugly spear, covered with dust. The sack crumbled to dust as they touched it. It was not theirs. The cup and the spear decayed as well. They were no longer the true ones. When the world ceased to be true, they did as well.

The deck, however, did not change or shift. The cards remained the same. After picking the remaining artifact up they both felt a presence. As the blue light shone over their face and the Will of Humanity's "avatar," the blue sphere, materialized, they both knew. There was no turning back.

Soon, the tower was too taken by the light, and this divergent timeline, a world the Factory had consumed, by the power of its Foreigner, ceased to exist. But Zepia Eltnam Atlasia and Jack Bright were no longer there.

They had struck a bargain. The price had been high, but they had paid it happily.

Meanwhile, in another place, in another time, in another world entirely, Albert Mansuz coughed blood.

He had stocked up on rations. If he kept working, he would survive this day, then he would eat. He was happy. He would finally go to sleep with his stomach filled. Finally. He ignored the screams, and concentrated on his work.

He slammed a piece from the bucket next to him into the socket of the strange machine whose production line he was working on. He coughed again. His arm was bleeding badly, but he couldn't stop working.

The Foremen would take him away if he did. He struggled to breathe. The production line suddenly stopped. What had happened? The other workers started whispering with each other. The line never stopped. He had once heard, from an older worker, old man Anton, god bless his soul, that it had once stopped, sixty years ago.

The factory had faced a great defeat in that day, according to Anton. The old man knew that, because he had heard one of the other, even elder workers, scream about it before the foremen dragged him away. That was why he was deaf on one ear.

Old man Anton was dead now. Dragged away by the foremen just like the others had. It was always like this.

The foremen screamed incoherently at the workers to continue working, and they returned, even with the line frozen. Suddenly, the speakers boomed, and a raspy voice spoke to the workers. It sounded... old.

- _The Factory has come to a decision. All of your contracts are terminated. Foremen, remove all workers working in Production Line 12 from the premises._

It stopped and hummed softly. The foremen came closer and closer, grabbing employees. Albert tried to resist, but they quickly took him down with a kick in the stomach. Spitting more blood, he begun to feel light-headed.

The speakers repeated.

- _The Factory has come to a decision. All of your contracts are terminated. Foremen, remove all workers working in Production Line 12 from the premises._

He was tired. He didn't even get to eat his food. Now he was going to be dragged somewhere. Perhaps he would find the old man's corpse. Maybe he was going to keep him company for the rest of his life. He wanted to cry.

He didn't want this. It was just a job offer. He didn't want to spend 10 years in hell.

The foremen carried him through the Factory's metal hallways. Thousands of workers were dragged by them towards the new hell of their existance. From all corners, more foremen appeared, carrying...

He knew them. Those were the poor men and women they had took away. They were in horrible condition. Bruises, holes, lacerations. Some were missing members. But they were alive. They were alive.

He looked around for old man Anton. Were was he?

His eyes widened, as he noticed a familiar bearded man. His arms and legs were made of metal. They had been replaced so he could keep working? They did that sometimes. What was happening? Were they going to kill them all now?

The speakers kept blaring their obnoxious message, over and over and over.

- _The Factory has come to a decision. All of your contracts are terminated. Foremen, remove all workers working in Production Line 12 from the premises._

They stopped. The foremen had led them into a great door. It was familiar, but he could not recall from where he had seen it before. Some of his fellow workers were hysterical. They were laughing? Had they gone mad?

- _The Factory has come to a decision. All of your contracts are terminated. Foremen, remove all workers working in Production Line 12 from the premises._

The doors opened. The night sky revealed itself.

Could it be?

- _In three-point-thirty hours, new workers for Production Line 12 will arrive. Prepare the reception commitee._

He felt more and more lightheaded. His mind seemed to slip away from him. Thinking was hard. New workers? One of the foremen tapped his neck. Albert fell unsconscious.


	24. Chapter 24

**INCIDENT REPORT**

_Note: By viewing this file, you confirm that you hold valid RAISA credentials, and that you are directly involved in investigation of Incident 137-21. If you are viewing this file in an unauthorized manner, close your browser window now to avoid repercussions._

**Incident Report ID #:** 137-21

 **Summary:** Incident 137-21 began with a known Factory (GoI-0004) production line located in [DATA EXPUNGED], France, suddenly released its workers from their tasks.

At the date of [REDACTED], 19██, instances of the anomalous entities known as "foremen" usually used by the Factory as enforcers, left the building through the main entrance, carrying seemingly unconscious workers, and proceeded to drop them in the floor. The instances then re-entered the building and closed the entrance.

After 30 minutes, nearby Foundation agents, stationed in the area in order to keep watch over the production line, arrived to retrieve the workers. Retrieval of the workers was partially successful, as more then a half expired before recovery could be attempted. No observable actions were taken by the Factory.

The recovered workers were transferred to Site-192, located near the Factory production line, and were interrogated by Foundation personnel, in order to obtain information regarding Factory capabilities and methods.

Over 70% of recovered workers had suffered injuries while employed by the Factory, and 60% expired while in Foundation custody. Of the remaining workers, a considerable number reported having been users of Factory paratechnology implants. Said implants were removed by the "foremen" after they were "dismissed" by them, an action that doubtlessly led to the death of many workers.

About 5% of the workers had suffered anomalous transformations and could no longer be classified as human. Said workers were referred by the others as having been "punished" by the "foremen" for failing to achieve their monthly "production quota."

Recovery of said workers was unsuccessful, and all of them entered a hostile state shortly after the attempt. Modified workers received the designation of SCP-3910 and were placed in temporary Keter containment. Reclassification as Euclid pending.

All remaining workers verified to be non-anomalous were amnesticized and transferred to custody of the Global Occult Coalition, who agreed to assist with their reinsertion into society, according to the decision of the Ethics Committee. 3% of the workers retained enough signs of anomalous interference and/or resistance to amnestics that reinsertion was deemed impossible. Said workers remain in Foundation custody,

The possibility of utilizing their expertise to combat Factory activity was proposed by O5-█ and is currently in deliberation by the O5 Council.

 **Addendum 137-21.1:** The following log contains an interwiew between Dr. Sheldon Agnizab, previously assigned to Mobile Task Force Eta-13 ("Worker's Rights"), and one of the recovered workers, Albert Mansuz. Mansuz had requested the interview himself after his full recovery, in order to reveal more about the inner workings of the Factory and their hierarchy, This log has been declassified for Level 3 personnel.

**< BEGIN LOG>**

**Dr. Agnizab** : Uhhh... you requested an interview, did you?

 **Mansuz:** Yes, yes. I have... things to tell you. I want you to know all I know about that place.

 **Dr. Agnizab:** How long have you stayed within the Factory's production line?

 **Mansuz:** Factory... that place is no factory. No sir, it isn't a factory. But it doesn't matter. I thought I had stayed for... 10 years? The Foremen told me that I had stayed for 10 years.

 **Dr. Agnizab:** You thought?

 **Mansuz:** Well, I've seen the date. It's been only 3 years since I got that job.

 **Dr. Agnizab:** Three years... well, how was your "work" like?

 **Mansuz:** Yes, "work." My "job" was as a simple "worker" in the line. I stayed in the line, and slammed a little cube inside a metal box. The guy next to me placed another part, and the guy next to him placed a third. Repeat for 3 or 10 years. That's what I did.

 **Dr. Agnizab:** Were there other functions for the workers?

 **Mansuz:** Yes. Security and public relations. They're still there. Only us workers got lucky. Can you... help them?

 **Dr. Agnizab:** I don't know.

 **Mansuz:** Uh. At least you admit it.

 **Dr. Agnizab:** What were the tasks of these other workers?

 **Mansuz:** Don't know about public relations. Security just stayed in there, shot anyone who tried to enter some sections, and served as food for the Foremen. If they survived long enough, the Foremen would drag them to the basement.

**< END LOG>**

_(Mansuz is silent)_

**Mansuz:** Then, another of them would come out. They... looked vaguely like the old guys, just... awful. Wrong. Monstrous.

 **Dr. Agnizab:** How were the "foremen" like?

 **Mansuz:** They were awful, I just told you. They looked like... things. Not human. They were like a dead body. It doesn't register as human to you, even if it looks like it. If we didn't work as hard as they wanted us to, they dragged us to the basement. We would have more use to them like this.

 **Dr. Agnizab:** And... what did happen to those who were dragged there? Were they all converted into "foremen" by the Factory?

 **Mansuz:** I don't know. But it wasn't good. No worker ever really came out from the basement, only these things. Until now. They took everyone out, didn't they?

 **Dr. Agnizab:** Yes. A few of the people we recovered said that they were taken to the basement, but didn't remember anything.

 **Mansuz:** A few? But there were hundreds taken there while I was a worker!

 **Dr. Agnizab:** Many of them didn't survive, unfortunately.

 **Mansuz:** Did... didn't survive? Did old man Anton survive? Anton Sue?

 **Dr. Agnizab:** I do not know.

 **Mansuz:** Please find out for me, then. Anyway, I was talking about the foremen, wasn't I?

 **Dr. Agnizab:** Yes.

 **Mansuz:** I... don't have anything else to say about them. So... well, if you didn't get dragged to the basement, there were other "promotions" we could get. Like administration. But I don't know a lot about them. Just that they could leave the building.

 **Dr. Agnizab:** Anything else?

 **Mansuz:** No. Can I leave now?

 **Dr. Agnizab:** Very well.

 **Closing Statement:** Following the conclusion of this interview, Mansuz requested permission to meet one of the Factory "veterans" that had been recovered, Anton Sue. Permission was granted by the Ethics Committee liaison assigned to Site-192. Sue is currently in the medical wing due to extensive organ damage caused during his employment in the Factory, and is lucid. Meeting was supervised by site security.

 **Addendum 137-21.2:** The following file was intercepted by Foundation personnel after it was sent from a United States Factory production line, localized in an the outskirts of the city of Stafford Springs, Connecticut. It has been declassified for Level 4 personnel and any personnel affiliated to Mobile Task Force Eta-13 ("Worker's Rights").

* * *

 **EVENT NAME:** Mass Dismissal  
 **EVENT ID:** I-342961  
 **IMPORTANCE:** Critical  
 **LOCATION:** Second Generation Manufacturing Center (Location ID: FR-0000004-ORI)  
 **DATE:** ██████ █th, 19██

FACTORY (EST. 1835)

**PRIMARY ACTOR(S):**

  * All Personnel Assets not in foremen, security, corporate sabotage or administration roles



  
**PRIMARY FACTORY ACTOR:**

  * The Investor (Foreman ID: INV00000001)



  
**OTHER PARTICIPATING FACTORY ACTORS:**

  * Elder Foreman Robert Henegar (Foreman ID: ELD00000007)



  
**OTHER AFFECTED STAKEHOLDERS:**

  * Factory Customers
  * Factory Stock Holders
  * All Personnel Assets not in foremen, security, corporate sabotage or administration roles



  
**RELEVANT PRIOR INFORMATION:** Action was taken thanks to a direct order from the Investor. Decision was unanimously accepted by all Elder Foremen, Managers and Directors.

 **TRIGGER:** After the reactivation of the reactivation of the automatized production line in Fuyuki, the Investor and the board of directors declared the current utilization of of a human workforce obsolete.

**ORDER OF EVENTS:**

**ACTOR ACTION:**  
Automatized line of production, previously thought destroyed, is reactivated in the city of Fuyuki, Japan.

 **FACTORY RESPONSE:**  
The creation of a force in order to retrieve the line of production, as its automatized mechanisms reportedly outperform all current production assets, is debated and vetoed by the Investor.

 **ACTOR ACTION:**  
Unknown agent takes control of the automatized production line.

 **FACTORY RESPONSE:**  
Fearing possible corporate espionage attempt, Elder Foreman Robert Henegar requests permission to move to the location, and retrieve the production line. Permission granted by the Investor.

 **ACTOR ACTION:**  
Production line is fully reactivated, and all workers are removed from Facility 23 in order to allow for more efficient usage of its space as an warehouse. Board of Directors declares workers obsolete. All worker contracts are replaced with temporary ones, as there may be no need for their presence in a near future. Assets near the region of Fuyuki are mobilized to assist Elder Foreman Robert Henegar.

 **RESULTS/FOLLOW UP:**  
As Elder Foreman Robert Henegar has only recently reached the region of Iraq due to his inconvenient location, the current consequences of his new task are unknown.

* * *


	25. Conflict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where the bells of reformation start to toil.

It was a storm of light.  
  
Beams of energy flew everywhere, and the battlefield had long since been abandoned in favor of another, more discreet one. The roof of prestigious hotel where the two Servants was not a perfect place to fight, thus, they were now fighting atop another, less conspicuous building.  
  
This had not been a mutual decision, as one of the sides of this battle could not care less about discretion or staying beneath suspicion. Therefore, this decision had been largely one-sided and thought of by the other side, who apparently did care about discretion.  
  
The side which _did_ care about such things was composed of three people. Lancer, Dan Sonya and Alison Kiluan. Two Masters and a Servant.  
  
They had not been attacked by surprise- their enemy had been spotted first, and there had been time to mount a defense. However, his speed had proved a challenge to overcome.  
  
A powerful Servant which vastly outclassed Lancer in the physical department, the enemy had managed to land a few hits before Lancer's magecraft could allow a counterattack. The two Masters were not in the area- they had been inside of the building and likely were not affected at all.  
  
The other side was composed of a single Servant, whose master was unknown to Lancer.  
  
He had managed to easily dodge his first spells, and pulled two cruel-looking black blades from a hole in space to fight. Possibly Saber, but a Rider who had yet to summon their mount was possible as well.  
  
Servant Lancer, was a Second Hytoth god, even if he wasn't in his actual divine state, having been summoned in his form before his ascension, the form recognized as "mortal hero Yorun" as opposed to "Holy Mage Yorun-leusan" which would probably be impossible to summon.  
  
His legend had heavy influences from his actual godly self and religious doctrine, influences which held sufficient power to give him a critical weakness.  
  
Bleeding.  
  
Bloodloss was the greatest threat to the Orthothan pantheon in existance. They lost blood quickly, and required constant transfusions to stay alive. Even if he did not actually need the blood anymore, Lancer's legend had given him this conceptual weakness, an Achilles's Heel.  
  
The strikes had only inflicted shallow cuts and only one of them was actually big enough to cause problems with bloodloss, but he had to be careful. Lancer was not a particularly strong or agile servant- even through his Endurance had the respectable rank of B, his Agility and Strength were the incredibly meager, for the standards of the top-tier of Heroic Spirits that Yorun should be in, B and C+.  
  
His enemy likely possessed at least an A rank. Yorun wanted to cry.  
  
Had he at least been summoned as a Caster, he would have _utterly demolished_ this idiot. Said idiot laughed as he dodged another one of Lancer's barrages of light-spears, blocking some with his spinning blades.  
  
-A worthy battle, eh? You Ortothans are always a challenge to fight.  
  
So he likely knew his origin, even if he did not know his true name. The four arms were likely a quite big hint.  
  
He had at least succeeded in steering his enemy away from the building, and to another one that seemed to be less populated. If he could keep manipulating him, he could throw him off the roof, then blast him with a spells until he fell to his doom. His enemy didn't seem to have any ranks in Magic Resistance, at least. So he was likely not a Knight Class.  
  
He dodged another strike, parried a second with his staff, and launched a few spears of sunlight towards his opponent. As the enemy Servant dodged them, Lancer used one of his hands to pick a drop of blood from one of his cuts, then drew a rune in the air with it.  
  
A glasslike sphere formed in his palm surrounding the blood-rune, and he threw it at his foe.  
  
-Die.  
  
The sphere flew towards Berserker, and exploded in a cloud of smoke. Deciding to go on the offensive, Lancer created a mural of runes in the air with a flick of his wrist, generating a flashbang effect just as the smoke dissipated.  
  
This seemed to briefly confuse Berserker. Good.  
  
His bloodthirsty battle style seemed to be suited for a Berserker. Yorun decided that he would refer to his foe, until he proved him wrong, as Berserker, even if he didn't seem like the raving, incoherent mad warrior he had been expecting. He was skilled and focused, was rather chatty, and had even made a joke about his arms before.  
  
If he killed him now, there wouldn't be any problems, he would be a step closer to victory, and would have time to deal with the blood he had lost. He needed to be more agressive.  
  
A rune materialized in his four palms, and the veil he had placed over the second pair of arms broke.  
  
Berserker laughed again and buried his blade in the floor, dropping it. The sword vanished. Interesting. The Servant's smile turned into a sneer.  
  
-You Ortothan four-armed sorcerers don't often go into battle. They hide in their castles and murder their foes with their sun-spear rituals, a whole kingdom away from the true battlefields. Who are you?  
  
He did not answer. Giving his foe clues to his true identity was likely not a good idea. He concentrated in his spell. The runes in his palms shone brightly. Berserker's eyes widened. Four energy whips materialized in his four hands, and he threw his staff into the air before grabbing the shining weapons. His enemy had not noticed what he was trying to do. He smiled. Time for a counter.  
  
It wasn't a Phantasm, but it would work. For now.  
  
With a scream, Lancer struck his foe with all four energy whips, sending him flying towards the roof's edge. The filaments of magical energy left horrible burns across Berserker's skin and applied a particularly deadly curse- a 'curse of trajectory" which forced the enemy Servant to not deviate from the path he had chosen for his flight.  
  
Said Servant screamed incoherently in futile rage as the curse moved him towards the edge, where he would be effectively defenseless from a possible barrage. Readjusting your direction mid-air to dodge would be impossible with the curse acting.  
  
Berserker would fall down the building, and the fall's trajectory was already set. Lancer would simply blast him to oblivion until he was dead, as he already knew where he would be, and he wouldn't be able to dodge, only block.  
  
Blocking would be useless if he attacked from enough directions.  
  
The battlefield was set up.  
  
On one side of the roof, Lancer, with his four whips already crumbling to nothingness, with his staff flying above his head.  
  
On the other side, Berserker, who had been thrown towards the edge and risked a fall. He had not dropped his blades when Lancer attacked, but they were no longer in his hands. Had he dematerialized them already? Why?  
  
The blade-wielder had an enthusiastic, manic glint in his eyes. The rage was gone. He had deciphered Lancer's plan, and was enjoying this battle immensely, it seemed. Yorun had met warriors like these. Bloodlusted hounds, men who saw anything that wasn't battle as utterly meaningless. There would be no agreement or peace between them. He had to slay this warrior.  
  
The warrior laughed as he came closer and closer to the edge. He was definitely a Berserker. Just a non-standard one.  
  
Lancer jumped and picked up his staff from the air, pointing it at Berserker. It crackled with eletricity, releasing a powerful blast towards the enemy Servant. Said Servant quickly pulled his blades from two new holes in space, and blocked the magical projectile. He spun around, and buried his blades in the floor, stopping his flight and ending the curse, then looked at him.  
  
-What a creative curse, Caster. An ingenious idea. You would set an my direction, throw me off this tower, and laugh at me as you crushed my body with long-range siege spells. You are a talented spellcaster. Rather original.  
  
He thought he was Caster? Lancer sighed. He wished he was. It seemed that his curse weakness' had been exploited. If the trajectory could not be changed, Berserker chose to end it. Shaking his head, he positioned himself and prepared. Berserker would probably attack again soon.  
  
Indeed, the Servant soon stood up and manifested a new sword. A long and slender blade, an absolutely enormous thing that was more of a polearm then a proper sword. It was taller then the Servant himself. This would be a problem. Runes formed behind Lancer, shining brightly. Berserker spun his dark blade around, and smiled sadistically.  
  
-Silent, huh? Let our battle being anew, Caster! There is no more glorious end then this one!  
  
With a laugh, Berserker threw himself at Lancer's barrage of projectiles once more.  
  
Meanwhile, a Foreigner walked through the streets of Fuyuki in a drug-fueled haze. Her mind was clouded and she babbled incoherently. However, that was the default state of any self-respecting Fifthist cultist, so it didn't really matter. She knelt in front of a pile of trash, babbling meaningless prayers, holding her guitar like a club.  
  
She stood up and looked at the building and the continuous surges of mana it emitted.  
  
She smiled.  
  
Foreigner picked up her book and stared at the hotel and the flashes of light it emitted. Were they important? She didn't know, and frankly it probably didn't even matter. She was cool. It was all really cool. The stars were shining tonight, she had a met some really cool friends today and she had almost finished her third song. She consulted the tome of wisdom.  
  
Passage three, chapter 394.  
  
_When you find two suspicious flashes of starlight, the song shall sing and the world will live in sevens who are only truly twos._  
  
She stared at the passage. She looked at the building again. She pouted at no one in particular. _This explained everything._ She shook her head and stood up from the pile of trash. She looked at one of the bags and whacked it with her guitar. It burst open, revealing that it was completely filled with beer bottles.  
  
She smiled again and picked one up.  
  
After drinking a few botles, she decided that she was going nowhere. She walked towards the building. She looked at her book again, for the third time, and took a page she had left inside of it as a bookmark. The lyrics for a song she had been working on recently. This one would be a hit.  
  
She tapped her foot a few times in the rhythm of her song. Foreigner slowly danced closer to the building, and muttered incoherently under her breath. No, this one wasn't really good for this moment. She needed something with a better vibe.  
  
She was incoherent but she still had style.  
  
Music was good and all, but some people just botched it. Track three was just...seriously? That shit just didn't have any of the good feels, the sounds, the smooth thing that moved through her ears, melting down all of her earwax in the way.  
  
Japanese rhymes seemingly sucked, anyway. She would go for the other track. She looked at her guitar and decided to move already. It wasn't as it would cost anything. She spun a little, and whistled a tune. This one was good. She smiled and prepared her melody, in her path to the building.  
  
The stars were beautiful tonight.  
  
No skips here, no stupid shenanigans, no memetic bullshit. Just a love song. Foreigner breathed deeply and looked at the lyrics. You and Me. She begun her song, and it echoed through the night.  
  
It was beautiful, wasn't it?  
  
As Foreigner played her love song, her Master, Kayneth, tried to free himself from his bonds. His Servant had rebellled against him. He needed to escape. He was in terrible condition and needed to escape. He tried to use his Command Seals against her, but it had been useless.  
  
What kind of Servant _ignored_ the Command Seals!? He could understand a member of the Knight Classes, who possessed high Magic Resistance, resisting Seal. But it the Seals were three claims of absolute obedience, the crystallization of an incredible feat of magecraft! How could Foreigner simply _ignore_ them like he hadn't even used them?  
  
He breathed calmly through his nose, and tried to calm down. This was getting him nowhere.  
  
Foreigner had completely covered him with silvery tape. He could barely move. She had said some incoherent joke about "sawing him in half" and the "power of flex" and he had nearly fainted at that moment. It wasn't his most dignified moment. Volumen Hydragenum, somehow, had also been completely covered in tape and wasn't moving.  
  
She had tampered with it somehow.  
  
He needed to escape. As soon as possible. Kayneth tried to free himself from the tape that covered his arm, to no avail.  
  
The magus couldn't free himself and couldn't use his magecraft thanks to that stupid cursed tiara Foreigner had placed in his head. That was likely the reason why Volumen Hydragenum wasn't responding. She had covered his mouth, and he shouldn't use his Command Seals. She would probably ignore them.  
  
He cursed his Servant silently in his mind. Why didn't he just use that piece of cloth from Alexander the Great? It would've be much better. Alexander would probably listen to him more then this cursed woman.  
  
And he would likely crush all of the other Servants.  
  
It was probably still there. Someone had likely already summoned Rider and Saber, so he couldn't even convince another Master candidate to summon them for him. He should've sticked to normal, reasonable heroes instead of stupid, stupid cultist incoherent sociopaths. They would've conquered the Grail War together.  
  
He didn't-  
  
_Stars may die in threes, but worlds die in fives._  
  
Kayneth tried to cough, but his mouth was covered in tape. The headaches were coming back... he needed to get out. He concentrated, and energy moved through his Magic Circuits. A single sphere of white air formed, spinning around his finger. His eyes widened. Had it worked?  
  
A sphere of spinning wind. One of the most simple spells his teacher in the Library had given him, yet extremely useful. Kayneth shook his head as best as he could, and blackened shards of plastic fell from his hair.  
  
The magecraft-blocking tiara had... decayed? Already?  
  
His mouth twisted into a cheerful smile. Now he could escape. With a simple, muffled chant, the sphere of air expanded, tearing the tape into shreds. His hand was free. Extending it, he commanded his Mystic Code to assist him. It quickly freed itself, freeing him from the chair Foreigner had taped him to in a matter of seconds.  
  
Kayneth Archibald was free-  
  
_From that heaping viscera we will rise again as pungent, fungent fumes!_  
  
Or not.  
  
The magus coughed and fell unsconscious. Behind him, an Assassin chuckled and played her knife. This had been the easiest mission she had in her life. Her target had fallen even before she attacked or even tried anything. She stretched her arms and looked at the prone form of her target. He had Command Seals in his hand. One had already been used.  
  
He had probably tried to do something his Servant and they had tied him up in retaliation. What a pathethic Master. She kicked him lightly in the ribs. He convulsed a bit then stopped moving.  
  
Assassin looked at him and tried to check his pulse. She hoped he wasn't dead.  
  
Oh, no he was normal. It was fine. She just had to warn her Master and the rest of the collective. It would be alright then.  
  
This war was going to be interesting, wasn't it? She hoped they wouldn't just have to kill him. The man's Servant would dematerialize, and she wouldn't even meet them. It would honestly be a pity. She would like to meet other Servants and talk to them a bit.  
  
Well, she had to go back to work. Picking the unsconscious form of Kayneth with her muscled arms, Assassin vanished into the shadows.


	26. Operation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Marisbury thinks.

In the anomalous community, there was no such thing as an "impartial arbiter."  
  
The factions who controlled the occult world were simply too polarized for that task. There was absolutely no way for the Church of the Broken God, for an example, to serve as the arbiter of the Holy Grail War.  
  
They would simply take the Grail for themselves. The other organizations weren't better- the Church hated the Mage's Association with a burning passion, the Second Hytoth- a group concerned with matters beyond the plantet's surface- had no use for the Grail, as its wishes were limited to the world, and the Foundation would not trust anyone to even use it and would likely just lock all participants in a dark cell somewhere.  
  
However, an impartial arbiter was needed anyway, even if they would be anything but impartial.  
  
The unspoken certainty of all Grail Wars was only one. Everyone would cheat at the best of their capacity. The Three Founding Families did not like when people cheated.  
  
Unless the families cheated themselves to stack the deck in their favor. Then cheating was the best thing since sliced bread. For the cheating family, at least. But all families cheated to some degree, so it evened out.  
  
The Foundation had been invited to serve as a referee in order to prevent upstart non-founder magi from trying to break the system. During the first part of the war, they had done their job masterfully, and the families congratulated themselves for their incredibly wise decision.  
  
However, after a particularly bloody conflict between two Servants, the Foundation had requested to bring a few extra security personnel to Fuyuki. Just in case.  
  
Too busy panicking about their horribly weak Servant, the Einzberns didn't respond. The other two families' mild opposal of this idea was then completely ignored by the O5 Council. Fearing the activation of the Grail, the Foundation activated Procedure ABGRUND.  
  
Said procedure was merely a complex designation for a simple idea. A war could not be fought if there was no one left to fight it. After all, giving random magi omnipotent wishes did not align with the "Secure, Contain, Protect." motto and probably never would.  
  
Procedure ABGRUND, then required that the Foundation simply got ride of every Master, and then there would be no Grail War. No war, no wishes. No wishes, no disaster when someone wished for something stupid. XK-Class end-of-the-world scenario averted. The "few extra security personnel" were used to enforce this decision.  
  
Said "few extra security personnel" weren't actually extra. Or security. Or a few. They were, however, Foundation personnel. Some of them were, however, part of a completely normal and definitely non-anomalous group known as 'Samsara" or "Tau-5."  
  
Plus artillery support. And air support. But they had certainly not brought any nuclear warheads just in case. After then, seizing the Grail would have been trivial, but the Foundation remained inactive. There was no need to antagonize the magi simply to obtain an extra SCP object.  
  
However, after Foreigner's attempt to create a brand new Factory in Fuyuki, the Foundation threw caution to the wind and attacked. Killing every Master they could get their hands on, they managed to not only blast the newborn Factory to smithereens, but managed to hide it entirely from the public.  
  
It had all been a gas leak, obviously.  
  
After killing the Masters, the Foundation then proceeded to destroy the Lesser Grail, ending the Heaven's Feel ritual, and with it, the Grail War. After that, seizing the Grail itself and creating a site around the area was more of an afterthought.  
  
Said Site, designated as "Site-Fuyuki" or "Vigilance Site 2491" by the Council, received the extremely difficult task of learning all that they could from the Grail's inner workings. The nature of Command Seals, the intricacies of the Servant summoning ritual, and the secrets of the Third Magic itself.  
  
Through the years, Site-Fuyuki had accomplished this task masterfully. Marisbury Animusphere, an accomplished researcher in the Magecraft Department, had been chosen to lead it after the previous Director, having illegally attempted to reactivate the Grail early, fell down a set of stairs, then committed suicide by shooting himself twice in the back of his head.  
  
The Animusphere family, after leaving the Clocktower, had been hired by the Foundation, and eventually rose to proeminence within the ranks of the Magecraft Department. Marisbury himself had been involved in many critical projects before being chosen as Director of Site-Fuyuki. He served as Director for three years before being promoted to Master of Berserker.  
  
Marisbury was currently regretting having ever accepted this "promotion." Berserker was more trouble then he was worth. He stared at the fight, which was happening in a whole other building, through his Foundation-made, shiny binoculars, completely hidden inside of a camouflaged hideout behind some pieces of rubble atop a building.  
  
Modern technology was useful. The Association would probably have thrown him out of a window for this.  
  
He shook his head and watched the two Servants fight. Berserker was likely in a duel with a Caster. He apparently made great use of runes, and was managing to survive Able's assault. Marisbury sighed. He did not desire to waste more Command Seals. The duel with Saber had consumed two, and he had failed to kill her.  
  
The Foundation's capacity to produce Command Seals was limited, after all  
  
They had managed, through examination and study of harvested Seals, to both regenerate existing Seals and produce both stronger and weaker varieties of these crystallized miracles. He, as their official Master, had been equipped with both of them, plus the regular set of Seals, with a total of 33 of them having been implanted into his body.  
  
First, the "Default" Command Seals- the regular variety, regenerating one every 24 hours. He had 3 of those. Those ones had been given to him by the Grail.  
  
Second, the Mass-Production Command Seals. Based on the designs of stolen Seals from the previous War, drawn all across his body like mystical tattoos. These would give the Servant a minor boost, but were still extremely useful, because the Foundation could simply make more- it took barely 6 hours to make three, though their mana reserves and stocks of the materials needed to manufacture them were limited. He had a whopping 30 of these.  
  
With all of the Foundation's investments on him, Marisbury could not possibly lose this war. There was absolutely no way. Even if he discharged his original hand of actual, true Command Seals, he would still have a ridiculous amount of them. He could simply order Berserker to win.  
  
However, he should not stop being cautious. The Command Seals were not infinite and should not be wasted. He would preserve his original hand of Seals and utilize the original ones only when absolutely necessary.  
  
He would continue watching.  
  
Berserker was seemingly talking to him. He had nearly avoided being thrown off the edge of the building, and was now trying to talk to his enemy. Interesting. Should he order him to stop? Shaking his head again, he concentrated. A Master could see through their Servant's senses rather easily. It was a function of their contract.  
  
He heard the words Berserker was speaking.  
  
-You do understand, do you? The only ones who are worthy of being remembered are those who fight. And we will fight, won't we?  
  
Caster simply nodded and answered calmly.  
  
-I am Lancer. And you will fall tonight.  
  
 _Lancer?_ Confused, Marisbury tried to remember some rune-wielding warriors. He could be either Cúchulainn, Ireland's Child of Light, or his teacher Scathach. But he was a man, so Scathach was out. And...  
  
He had four arms? Was that man _Shiva?_ He truly hoped he wasn't.  
  
Marisbury decided to go in the offensive. Extending his hand towards Able, he muttered.  
  
-By the power of my lesser Command Seal, _destroy Lancer._  
  
Berserker laughed through their mental link, and returned to his battle, the arcane tattoos drawn across his skin burning with power. The Servant of Madness, the First Victim.  
  
A fascinating man, in Marisbury's eyes, even if he had proved a challenge to control. Mad Enhancement did not completely eliminate reason uniformly. Like nearly all of the other aspects of a Heroic Spirit, it took shape based on myth and legend.  
  
A hero like the Child of Light could have his Mad Enhancement based on his legendary Warp Spasms, Heracles could be summoned after being cursed by Hera, and perhaps there could be more unique examples of madness? Like Lu Bu possessing an urge to betray? He had discussed this with other researchers for a long time, and had failed to come to a conclusion.  
  
Until now, obviously. Able's Mad Enhancement proved that there could be more to the Berserker class then simple hatred and rage. It was madness born out of something that was _missing_ in his mind. Able fundamentally lacked something humans had. Many human concepts were utterly alien to him. It was like his mind had been built on war, and nothing else.  
  
Fascinating.  
  
Able lacked the mind to comprehend peace. He was a living weapon, a man made to wage war and nothing else. Peace. Calm. Unneeded violence. All of these concepts simply made no sense to his psyche. He did not understand how a person could be valued by anything other then battle.  
  
One thing was certain, though. He understood battle. Battle was Able's heart. His motivation. His soul.  
  
He was an interesting man, in the end.  
  
Marisbury Animusphere chuckled softly. It was not the time for this. Returning to his binoculars, the mage continued to watch the Servant duel. Berserker would win this one, he was sure. The enemy certainly wasn't Shiva, was he? A four-armed Servant... he needed to think.  
  
Meh, it wasn't as Berserker couldn't beat him. No one was older then him. No one summonable, at least. There weren't any catalysts of Adam left, and Cain was in their possession. Actually, Cain would probably be an Assassin. There wasn't any other class for him. So he wasn't Lancer.  
  
Readjusting his position and his binoculars, Marisbury smirked. This war would be his easiest assignment since the retrieval of Black Barrel.


	27. Counteroperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Zepia thinks.

Zepia Eltnam Atlasia floated in a sea of thoughts.  
  
He did not hate anything. Not even himself. He had long moved past his guilt and hatred. He could even say he was... happy.  
  
Bright had helped him move past his hateful thoughts, just as he had helped him do the same. He was... a good friend? Perhaps. Perhaps he was. Perhaps not. He didn't really know. But Bright was... a good man. A good man, cursed with a terrible fate.  
  
Just as he had been. Immortality of a different nature, but immortality nevetheless. Something which Zepia had thought impossible.  
  
Bright's soul had not deteriorated at all. It was perfectly... normal. The amulet had perfectly preserved his spiritual components for all of this time. And his _own soul_ was being kept safe by this amulet's power.  
  
This, according to all of his studies, was impossible without the Third Magic acting- and ot would require constant ressurrection.  
  
A human soul could not exist indefinitely.  
  
The amulet. It was an anomaly- it did not obey the rules.  
  
Even if a human became a Dead Apostle and found some way to evade death, it would eventually come for them. Immortality was impossible, and even if the body would escape decay, the soul would not, and eventually, it would return to Root.  
  
The amulet had halted said decay entirely, preserving the soul in a sort of hybrid stasis, where it could still learn and receive information, but remained otherwise unchanged.  
  
All returned to the Root eventually. Zepia himself knew he would fall one day. He did not know _how,_ but his death was an inevitability. Death was something he could not truly escape from. He had accepted that truth during his life, and had put himself to work.  
  
There were secrets to reveal and research to be done. Only weaklings would give in to madness and fear.  
  
He, as the director of the Atlas Academy, had predicted the end of the world. He could die, but he would not let the world die with him. He would find a way to save the world and prevent catastrophe. He would bring forth that impossible future, the world where mankind would not fear extinction, the world where they could be safe.  
  
A world free from this disaster.  
  
Differently from that wretch Wallachia, who had scattered his own soul to the winds in a cursed deal with that dark spawn of Crimson Moon, the little, disgusting Dead Apostle hybrid, Altrouge Brunestud.  
  
He had given in to hatred and malevolence, but Zepia had not.  
  
And he never would.  
  
The alchemists of Atlas had dedicated themselves into developing methods capable of avoiding the end of all things, but they had not succeeded. And they never would, as Atlas was long gone. The Coalition had destroyed them.  
  
He remembered that day. He was in his office. Reading a rather interesting thesis on the nature of Ether.  
  
A light descended upon Atlas on that day, and the world's greatest haven of alchemists was no more.  
  
He remembered that day. He remembered standing atop the ruins of Atlas, his life's work gone in an instant. He had been afraid. He had been buried under an enormous amount of rubble, as the Coalition slaughtered all survivors.  
  
He remembered the feeling. The crushing weight and the lack of air.  
  
As he managed to escape through his alchemy, his life's work was destroyed.  
  
He was powerful. He was one of the world's greatest magi, and his technique was unrivaled. He was above many, and few were above him. Yet, he could not save Atlas. But he had managed to save a few others. At least that.  
  
His family, the house of Eltnam, had managed to escape. With his help, they had managed to save many others from the ruins, evading the forces of the Coalition.  
  
It had not been easy. The superweapon that had managed to destroy Atlas was not an one-use device. Every few minutes, the weapon was used again, erasing any who were caught in their light from existance.  
  
The enemy forces launched dozens of horrifying weapons upon the academy's ruins.  
  
There was no reason to dwell in the past, though. He should stop thinking about that. For now.  
  
The mere fact that he could think and have free time was an aberration amongst the Counter Guardians. Were he Counter Guardian ZEPIA, had he struck the deal without Bright's presence, he wouldn't have free time. His life would be an endless desert of war and slaughter.  
  
Nothing more, nothing less. That was the destiny of those who chose the duty of Alaya, the duty of mankind. An eternal, painful, thankless duty.  
  
But Bright had struck the deal. He was Counter Guardian BRIGHT, and both him and Wallachia were merely weak presences in the back of his head. They were sources of power and could influence the scientist...  
  
But they both knew he was the one in control.  
  
To Zepia, Counter Guardians were not "guardians." It was rare for Bright to be summoned in order to actually defend or guard things. They were natural disasters, armed with nearly infinite mana, brought forth to destroy all that opposed them.  
  
Right now, their mission was to kill a magus who would, were he to be left unchecked, create a very dangerous plague and kill vast swathes of humanity, possibly even causing their extinction. Their plan was, then, to possess the body of their mother- the only person who was truly trusted by that magus, and utilize her to get closer to him.  
  
Then they would give him the amulet, and possess him in turn. Threat liquidated. Most of the time, as Bright was always the one in control of the body, Zepia was left to his own devices-  
  
Wait, that part of the mission was done already? Had he lost track of time? Bright had succeeded in his plan of possessing the magus' mother, and was currently stabbing his previous body in the neck with a knife.  
  
Soon they would be dead.  
  
Well, Zepia supposed that worked as well.  
  
Wallachia screamed in rage in the back of their mind, as he always did. Bright remained silent, thinking of a way to complete the mission. It had always been like this. They would return to the throne, and they would remain there until the Counterforce used them again.  
  
Fortunately, they had time until they had to go back. Materializing an illusionary form inside of the illusionary dreamworld inside of the amulet, Zepia looked at his two companions' mental self-images. In the real world, Bright stopped moving, smiled at him and waved. Wallachia didn't even notice him, absorbed by his maniacal rant.  
  
 _-Spin the vermin, reverse the guilt. Reverse the birth, reverse the world. Spin spin spin spin spin SPIN!_  
  
Wallachia was a broken being. He was disgusting, but Zepia did not hate him.  
  
He was misguided, distorted, corrupted machine masquerading as a semi-coherent being, but his madness was somewhat... justified? Zepia supposed that you could not remain sane after converting yourself into such a monstrocity. And he _had_ chosen his cursed fate for a good cause.  
  
The bargain with Brunestud was simply the logical conclusion of his obsession with saving mankind. He had been willing to sacrifice all of himself to save the world.  
  
Zepia respected Wallachia for that, even if he didn't like it one being.  
  
TATARI. The Reality Marble of Night of Wallachia. A roulette meant to collect data, forged through an unholy bargain with the youngest daughter of the bloody moon. It was prophesied that once Crimson Moon returned, TATARI would reform into it original shape- Zepia himself.  
  
Night of Wallachia did not possess a true shape- his form and powers were merely results of their peculiar rebirth.  
  
After the Factory had taken the world for itself, Zepia had chosen to wander the world instead of waiting for his death like so many had before. The acidic fumes and toxic smoke the machines constantly spat out were utterly harmless to him.  
  
He had wandered for a long time.  
  
The sky was covered in smoke. He could not see the sun. He did not know for how long he had walked the earth.  
  
Then, he had found Bright's corpse, atop a mountain of scrap and black sludge. It was nearly sinking into a puddle of goo, with the amulet sticking out. He had chosen to wait and die. Zepia took the amulet.  
  
Zepia ceased to be. Bright took his place.  
  
A few months later, Bright walked into the heart of a deserted replica of the Factory, in the city of Fuyuki, and found the ruins of the Grail.  
  
He summoned Zepia Eltnam Atlasia, a wraith born from a melded collective of Zepias, into himself through a Demi-Servant ritual. Their souls fused, and the amulet accepted the wraith of Zepia into itself. They became a collective, separate but whole.  
  
But it was a simple Servant ritual. Zepia was the Servant and a source of power.  
  
Nothing more. Bright was in control. The world ended, and he struck a bargain with the spiral of energy, the will of mankind. The Counter Force, Alaya, all of that. He became a Counter Guardian. It was better then dying after the timeline ended, but it still wasn' that good.  
  
It was rather sad, wasn't it? Oh, Bright was getting closer to the magus' base. Zepia decided to sleep. For now.  
  
As Zepia slept, Bright smirked. Wallachia was too self-absorbed and maniacal to even hear him. He was completely alone for now. Well, time to complete the mission.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...

I've decided to stop.

I'm not going to update this story again, sorry. Going to rewrite it entirely. The first chapter of the rewrite is already up.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26716576


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